Holloween {MfT B DS SM TS TG TV Drag, Rape, Snuf, Necr.  In some chapters, I also use the code {ME} for Medical Examination.  Not sexually motivated, but often explicit, and grahic depending on the subject.

Billy {MM Snuf, Anal PL#3 on repeat, even if you can't stand it.}

	I tried to relax in the club.  Men dancing, drinking, kissing each other, it's not the gayness of it, but why I'm here that makes me uncomfortable.
	The papers called him "Dirty Harry."  Mostly for his weapon of choice, a .44 magnum, I'd seen his work.  From the stippling on what was left of their faces, it was a long barreled revolver.  8-10", he put it in their mouthes, to almost literally blew their heads off.
	They got it wrong, as usual.  The movies never portrayed Harry Callaghan as particularly homophobic, or gay.  They missed the blatent philatio aspect, the sexual displacement.  I've talked to professional prophilers on the case, and they agree with me.
	He's internalized his fear of being gay to the ones he blames for it, the "Faggots."  Instead of fucking them, or acting out his rape fantasies, he kills them, subconciously the most sexual way he could think of.
	Anyway, I got onboard, because we didn't have enough manpower to canvass every gay bar in the SFBA.  He switched them, never using the same one again, so far, and nobody recognised him enough to even get a description.  All we had so far was a profile, and two victims.
	Dr. Jenkins always said, "Once is an instance, twice coincidence, three times a pattern."  Hopefully we wouldn't have to wait, for him to make it official.  The chances of it being coincidence are pretty slim, but if he moved, or evolved too much, we might lose him.
	There, coming in, I checked him out.  No, not like that, but I filtered him through the pro-file I had in my head.  He definitely looked out of place, like he was here against his will.  He brushes his hair out of his eyes a moment, to look around the room, but it's twitchy.
	Horrified, he lowered his head, dropping the bangs over them, started away from graphic displays of affection, homosexuality, man-on-man sensuality.
	Paranoid,.. something.  I'm not sure whether it's Schitzophrenic, or just Personality Disorder, but I figure he blames the gays for his same sex attraction.  Extremely butch, leather jacket, jeans, boots, not cowboy, but casual butch, subconcious.  Straight guys wouldn't wear that, he'd tell himself, or that's a manly pair of boots.
	I had to make sure, lots of guys act likeat, closeted, not even realizing they're doing it.  Not embarrassed, though, but truly homophobic, scared shitless of "them".  Not counting himself as one, they are the enemy.  Eventually, he overcomes his revulsion, and lets himself get picked up.
	He can't confront one, though, he has to be set off.  He sees me, though, staring, freezes pinned like a deer by a sudden light.  "Kin I getcha a drink?" he startles back from me.  Looking up, he caught my face, eyes wavering, smiled slightly, and flushed.  His pleasant expression went away, angry in a flash, clenching his jaw.
	"Sure."  I set down, not too close, and a waiter came over.  
	"Hey guys," he dropped a couple coasters, "What can I getcha?"
	"Another Tsing Tao," I nodded, "And..?"
	"No," he wouldn't even look up at the fabulous ensemble, or effeminate set to the waiter's hips, but couldn't ignore the falsetto.
	"Suit yurself," he sasheyed away, "Sweety," and got me another beer.  About my limit, I don't drink much, but should be able to handle a couple to fit into the background.
	"What's your name?" I made my voice as deep as I could, to attract him.  Disgusted by the faggy ones, he would need some manliness, and I'm too pretty for much.
	"Uh," he looked aside, "John."  Right, that's why hookers call them that too, instead of the real names.
	"Billy," I gripped his hand tight, "That's what everbody calls me."
	"Yeah?" I opened my eyes for him to see them, held his a moment before he looked away shamefully.  Pretty, but straight acting was working.
	"I haven't seen you around," I took a sip, thankful I'd though to eat a lot of fatty food first to soak it up.  "You from here?"
	"Where you from?" he got defensive, and I slipped my hand back.
	"Teh Pilipenes," I lied, "My daddy was stationed there, and married my Ma, and took us back to Kentuky."  I didn't want to tell him the truth, it's a long story, and there's no telling how he'd take it.  	I tied to fit his victimology.  He's white, most sexually motivated killers stick to their own race, but he'd killed a hispanic, and asian, once they could be identified.  I had to run the DNA on the one I'd Examined, even his finerprints were destroyed by the blast.
	"Uh," he looked around nervously, "You wanna get out of here?"
	"Yeah," I got up, looked back to him staring at my ass, the panic in his eyes.  His hands were shaking like an addicts, and he was hyperventilating, but he relaxed a little when we got out.
	"My," I looked up, ready to trigger him, "You're a big guy, aren't you?"  What was I doing?  He's a serial killer, almost certainly armed, why was I following him instead of calling the police, baiting him?
	But he would run, maybe to another jurisdiction to hold it in as long's he could.  The first two were months apart, but he was still evolving, would probably accelerate when he got a feel for it.  "Let's go," he grabbed my arm.
	"And forceful," I went for Frank 'n Furter, "Dominant.  I likeat."
	"Shutup," he drove a pickup, forced me into the cab.
	"Okay," I held up my hands, "Calm down."  I didn't have to act scared, he's no giant, but he picks small victims as low risk?  Or maybe he's picked up by the petite ones, looking for a larger masculine man like him?
	May be he don't choose his victims, but waits to be chosen, so he has no victimolgy beyond gay, and male.  "Stop it!" he puts his hand to his head, over his eye, on this side.  He doesn't look at me, can't he hates me so much, for making him feel like this, attracting him.
	Visual hallucinations?  The hair grown over his eyes as a subconcious shield, avoiding eye contact, the one time his gaze met mine it triggered one, his eyes twitching though I didn't move, following delusional action, pleasent, then enraging when it tripped the homophobia.
	The release lowers his sexual tension, may be literally orgasmic, or just enough to make it seem a little better.  He must think they're from me, us his victims.  Killing the faggots makes it stop, or less intense.  He believes he's picking up on it, psychicly, or something.
	"Fucking faggot," he stopped trying to hide it, pulled his pistol.
	"Omygod," I shrank back, hands up defensively, "You're him!"
	"Yeah," I had to look away from the barrel, the cylinder, like a black metal scrotum.  "You're gonna die faggot, I'm gonna blow your fucking head off."
	"Please," I had to get him to relax, "Don't hurt me."
	"Don't fight," he didn't look away from the road, "and it won't hurt."
	He drove me to Golden Gate Park, not one of his earlier dump sites.  After the release, he didn't touch them, hang around, left them where they died.  My heart pounded like it hadn't in years, and I had all these feelings I never thought I would again.
	He parked, forced me out.  "Come on," he dragged me by the arm, gun to my head, and I started shaking uncontrollably.  Deeper down the trail, under the bridge, I knew I was going to die.
	What did Keith say?  "Go inta a fight knowing you can't lose, you will."  I remembered, "Know you can't win, you won't," now the important part, "Know you won't live through it, and you can't lose."
	I relaxed, and we stopped, I caught my breath.  Looking up at him, there, I felt it, nothing.  I didn't want to die, I would fight, but he was relaxing too.  Wait, for the right time.  He can still make a mistake, I can still win.
	"On your knees," he sneered, assured of his control, dominance, "Faggot."
	I kept crying, not feeling it, but keeping up the act, pleading wordlessly.  "Open your mouth," it was huge in front of me, and I was surprised to feel myself hardening.  He won't pull the trigger until he gets what he wants, it has to be just right.
	I put my hands on it, cold, hard, metallic, slipped my hands back to the fluted cylinder, but kept my mouth shut.  "I said open your gotdam mouth!" his hands shook, he was losing it.
	Colt Anaconda, double action.  I gripped it with all my strength, now was the time to fight.  Eyes on his hand, going white in the sodium vapor, finger tightening, straining.  The cylinder tried to turn, pinched my fingers against the frame, but it couldn't fire.
	"Ah!" it hurt, "rrragh!" I pushed up with my legs, all my strength, and adrenaline, and forced it back into his crotch, his balls.
	"Owwe!", then, "Ugh." he hunched.  His fingers slipped, relaxed a seccond, long enough to wrench it free.  I hit his crotch again, and jumped back as he fell, doubled over.  Panting, holding himself, I think I blacked out.
	
"Ashe" (fT NS Play)

	The Mourning Star thumped with an electronic pulse.  Even muffled outside, I recognized the tune, the beat, {PL#242}.  I knew he was here, had to be.  Out of all the places in the area, he'd check each of them, and this is the one he'd choose.
	"That your costume?" the bouncer hulked down at me.
	"Yeah!" I spun, "I'm 'Winter'."  My bleached white hair dropped back over my shoulders, hood down, white polyfleece cloak behind me like a cape, snow white dress flaring, blue bra showing through.
	"How old are you?" hir voice was deep, manly, and I wondered whether sHe was M2F, or F2M?  Brown leather apron of a skirt, so female identified, but the legs underneath were thick, detailed with muscle, skin tight enough to see it.  Jacket against the autumn chill, it's been too dry to snow yet.
	"Twenty three," I lied, looking right in her eyes.  Hmm, green!  Kinda pretty even.  I held up my card.  I don't have stuff like birth certificates, or social security numbers legally, and I'm not sure how old I am.
	"Ashley White, huh?" hir eyes scanned my face, "Cute.  You just look younger," she shrugged, and handed it back.  Amazing what you can do with a job at the MVD, and some makeup.  No velvet rope, but she held the door for me, drew something on my hand.
	"Neat symbol," I looked up, "What's it mean?"
	"Question Gender," she opened her jacket to show it tattooed on hir chest, a ? with the +, and arrow, pointed up at a diagonal, right over her cleavedge.
	Next to it, the black "Wife Beater" had a red Anarchy symbol, and I caught a whiff of fragrance.
	Familiar, "Is that,.?" smells like.
	"Teen Spirit," a big hardy laugh, "Have a good time."  Now where the hell did she get that, the internet?
	Inside, I danced my way to the floor.  Glowing in the ultraviolet dark, everbody saw me, watched me.  "One you lock teh target!" I sang along, "Two you bait teh line!"  swung around the room, "Three you slowly spread teh net," didn't see him, or recognize him anyway, "And four you catch teh man!" {PL#242}
	Great DJ, teh man nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere, fantasizing, psyching hiself up.  Lotsa pretenders, though, some kid trying to dance up to me.
	"Nice collar," I looked him down sarcasticly, "Who's is it?"
	"Mine," wrong answer, kid, "You want it?"
	I turned around, "I don't wear them," cause I know what they mean.  Maybe, a real domme, at least.  "You're new here," he grinned, prominant fangs, not my boy.
	"A regular member," dick, "aren'tcha?"
	"Yeah," to sensitive too.
	"Patience," I dansed away, anybody that moves likeat ain't worth a shit in bed anyway.  Can't keep rythm even with it beat out for him, and I was looking for a stronger quieter type.
	Quite an accelleration, for him, months to weeks, and a giant leap in escalation.  I took my work out of my head, and just groved.  More german industrial, but dansie, and playfull, "Plastic Fantastic!
	"Fantasich,"  I bounced along, "Phantastich, Plastich!"  set my tits a swinging with my hips, "Plastik Phantastik!"  Rockin, not even aware of evyryone around me, watching.  The synthetic poppy skip faded out, a synth drum intro I recognised.  {PL#6-7}
	"Incomming!"
	I strutted to the bar to the guitar chug, the noir chix moving in behind me to clear the cobwebs, and sang along.  "I'm lying on my back now, the stars look all too near.  Flowers on the razor wire, I know you're near."
	If I just stood there, somebody'd buy me a drink.
	"We are few, and far between," he went on huskilly.
	"Hey!" behind me,
	"I was thinking about hherr," growled, "Skin!"
	"Ash, right?" the DJ, posing, but pulling it off.  
	"Love," around us, "is a many splintered thing."
	"Yeah," don't be afraid, now, "You're," just walk away!  She talked between the lyrics, so I did.
	"Molly," eyes hidden behing the goggles, stretching out the room, flashing lights behind me, tiny.  "Chrome Molly Bach," the last syllable with a German accent.
	I got it, "like Molly from Neuromancer, and Burning Chrome."  {(c)William Gibson}
	But with staples, looks like, twisted in the flat braids of her hair,  "Flowers on the razor wire."  
	"A razor girl!" her left hand, becconing metallic polished nails filed to double edged scalpel blades.  Increadible timing with the musik.
	"Walk on IN!"
	"As in Yohann Sebastian."  She smiled, bug eye mirror goggles pushing up her eyebrows.  Wow, just wow.
	"Her lovers qued up in the hallway," she mouthed the words, "I heard them scratching at the door." she moved, sexy, not clawing theactricly, but twisting felinely.  "I tried to tellem, 'bout Marx, and Engel's, 'God, and Angels.'  I don't really know what for."
	Her hand held out, "But she looked good in ribbons."  It draped over her fingers, black, and shiny.  Her chrome nails short on that hand, as if she'd retracted them.  I took it, the music gone, world stopped around us, then she turned away.
	"So just walk away!"
	I bet she looked good in ribbons, "Flowers on the Razor wire."  A thick round braid, swinging behind her almost to the floor, a rainbow of uv reactive neon extensions woven in, a plug on the end.
	"You want anything?" I didn't even look over at the bartender.
	I shouted, "Yeah," to be "Her."
	"She's gay," he yelled back, "you know."
	"Yeah," don't have to tell me, "I know."  And I think She likes me.
	"So whatcha want?" I finally turned away, "On the house."
	"Absynthe," I joked.  But he had it, I thought it was illegal, or something.
	I usually don't choke on liquer, but even with the sugar, my body recognises it for the poison it is.  Wormwood, biblicly {Rev. 8-10} toxic, and numbing down my throat.
	Now, I'm not gay, but as the trippy music drifted in, a sound, like a scream pulled out to a moan dragged me down.  Not molly, "Benedict."  Brutalfull {PL#7}, pretty/powerfull, the tilted nose just a chink in her shiny armor.
	I'd have to get used to it, she would drink it, and it would attract him.  He likes to drug them, make it that much more intense.  I made it to the danse floor, kept my feet under me, and let the musik carry me along...

Billy 

	I jerked awake, wished I couldn't remember my dreams.  Grabbing some juice, it washed the nasty taste from my mouth, but didn't clear my head any.  I blacked out again, only remembered in nightmares, prayed it wasn't real.
	Disgusted, I got dressed, went out for a paper.  ["Dirty Harry" Strikes Again!] the headline.  I relaxed, picked up a Tribune, and a cup of tea.  [The Bay Area's latest serial killer slayed another man last night, in Golden Gate park.]  I closed my eyes, caught my breath.
	I skimmed the front page of the artical, thank god no pictures, but they did release a pertinent fact.  The killer had escalated, sodimised his victim with the gun before pulling the trigger.  "Yeah, faggot," the voice in my head, "That what you want?  How do you like it?"
	The sobs, pleas.  
	Saved by my ringtone, "I know," I braced myself, "I saw the artical."
	"No," she took me back, "Not Dirty Harry, another Serial."
	"What?"  I copied the address, "We're not releasing the story yet, pending investigation."  Close, on Alameda Island, I drove out to a deceptively normal suburb, lit by a slow sunrize.
	"Surreal," the lights flashing, cordoning off the house.  Simple, nondescript, a dog barking franticly out back.  His space invaded, all those cops inside, his territory, but only able to yell, helplessly in his canine language.
	"This is a closed scene," I lifted my credentials.  "Sorry, sir," behind me, "Your van's not marked."
	Yeah, most people don't like to see the Coroner in their neighborhood.  Besides, it's my personal vehicle, just happens to be able to carry a body, descretely if neccisary.
	"Where is it?"  The uniform looked releived. 
	"Come on," he sighed, "We bin waiting on you, to move her."  Female victim, I stopped by the door, nominally.  Blood, hard to beleive it all came from one person.  No message written in it, and a sheet over the body.  Soaked though, I could see that they were black, silky smooth, but even darker with the wetness.
	I dropped my bag, "Why didn't the weekend M.E. handle this one?" someplace dry.  Strapped on some gloves, and pulled back the sheet.
	A woman, mutilated, looks like intentionally for disfigurement.  "Looks like a closed casket," I sighed, parts of skull were visible on her forehead, looks like the knifetip scraped sideways, with some force up into the scalp.
	I pulled a liver thermometer, "What's the Ambient temp?"
	"'skuse me?" I had the room to myself.
	"Find the temperature in the house," preferrably before everbody and his dog started traipsing in and out.
	"Yessir," all this bloodloss carried some of the body heat away, complicating the calculation.  This wouldn't be a precise ToD, but sometime after midnight, this late.
	"Thermostat's set on seventy five,"  I nodded.
	"Was the bedroom door closed when responders arrived?" he went to find out.
	I shook out the Tyvek bag, waited for the photographers to finish.  Spread eagled, a ruin of slashes, stabs.  A massive wound between her legs.  A multitailed whip, bloody, but undamaged around her wrist.  I packed her up, and drove her to my office, flipping the diamond signs over on the side.  [Biohazard] with trefoil.
	Turning on the recorder, "Dr. Billy Young," I pulled back the rest of the cover to more, "It's sunday, 1Nov09," check my watch, "08:37."
	I won't recite the whole transcript, just the findings.  First, we're talking about a sexual sadist here, rape, and torture to death, post mortem stabbing, semen in one of the wounds, necro.
	Now, I seen a lot, but this was just aggreggious.  17 peri, and 23 post mortem stabs as far as I could tell.  Countless slashes, clustered around the chest, nipples exised, and leaking chunks of silicone.  No remains of genitals, none, nothing but a wound between her legs, pubic bone showing with tattered stripes of flesh.
	Right handed, can't guestimate height because I believe he was pronated over her for the majority of the attack.  Inconsistant angles, moving up, and down her.
	Defensive wounds, a sideways stab in the forearm down to the radius, and ulna, single edged, with a dull back semi edge, 2 3/4" long, flat edge above that.
	Deeper thorasic wounds give an approximate lenth of 4-6", flat sided, no ferule, or hollow grind, so a cheap bowie.  No guard, at the base of the blade from at least one imprint on her abdomen, the destinctive shape of a lockback, a buck knife, or similar, no opening stud, or device apparent, so probably just a nail slot.
	The wounds stop below the thighs, lascerations on the insides suggest cutting to start the flow of blood, perhaps as a lubricant.
	No hesitation suggested in any of the stabs, or cuts, decisive and controlled in the case of the cuts.  Specificly for torture, the nipples exised, and the entire pereneal through pubic region destroyed.  Cuts first, they are transected by several of the stabs.
	A semen sample, sent directly to the lab.  At the bottom of the pelvic wound, it seems we're dealing with a sadistic necrophiliac.  Tortured her to get hard, then raped her corpse with blood as lubricant.  Multiple successive post mortem stab wounds, rage, after.  He covered her, not protectively, but not wanting to look at her.
	Ironicly, it helped me forget my own personal demon that day, my own sadistic behaviour nights before.  I didn't like what I was turning into before, before I killed some damn body.  Sure, he was a killer, and wasn't gonna stop, but I enjoyed it.  "There but for the grace of god..,"
	"Excuse me?" behind me.
	"Sorry," she held up a folder, "They rushed the bloodwork, and I think you need to see this."
	The DNA profile, normally it took weeks, but this was priority 1.  First 48, and all.  We wanted to stop this guy before he got to another victim.  This much rage, and shadenfreude, unstructured, there would be more.
	"The semen sample?" I guessed.
	"No," she pointed at the table, hand over her mouth.  I'd gotten elbow deep in the butterflied ribcage, removed the silicone implants, and weighed the heart, but she wasn't new here, had seen it.
	"You're sure?" she turned away.
	"Yeah," she grabbed the trashcan, and tried to fill it.  I waited, held back, and thanked myself for not eating anything.  She had eggs, looked like, and bacon from the smell.  "They ran it three times."
	I looked back at the sheet, [Karyotype: XY46] chromosomes, male.  The next sheet was toxicology, Estrogyne(c), and Viagra(Tm), among others.  Trans.
	I brought up the case file, amended it with a note:  [Victim was a M2F transexual, prescription controlled substance for E.D. in bloodstream indicates pre-operative.]
	Curious, I cross referranced the ID, "Kathryn," with the legal name change through a gender reassignment clinic in Miami.  Last address, from the ID photo, no driver's liscence, in Berkley.  Place of employment a couple blocks south, technicly in Oakland, zoned commercial/industrial.
	Notorious for prostitution, "massage parlors," and alley hookers.  Specialists, trannys, and/or sadomasochists, possibly picked up by a John.  
	From the torn clothing, and decor, collection of toys, and whips in hir apartment, I guessed a Dominatrix.  She picked up the wrong client the worst kind of switch, he must have overpowered hem, or been triggered by the shock, surprise.
	He didn't tye hir down, but not for lack of opportunity.  The bed, weight bench, mirrors, all subtly set up for it.  The closest thing was the whip strap on her left wrist, signifying submission, but no welts on hir, just cuts, stabs.
	"Mourningstar?" a man answered, yawned.
	"Uh," I glanced over at the phone, "This is Dr. Billy Young over at the Alameda County Coroner's office."  So preoccupied, I don't remember dialing, or deciding to call.
	"You had an employee named Kath,.." I glanced back to the screen.
	"Yes," he interrupted, "S'he quit last night."
	"Just following up," I switched frames, "What was 'her' position there?"
	"Barback," I supressed a chuckle, expecting some euphemism.
	"So you're a bar?" I guessed.
	"We've got one," strange dialect, "But the 'Star is a member's only club."
	"Sex club?" I guessed, given the neighborhood's reputation.
	"Dance Club," right, "But sex is allowed, between members on the premises."
	"Okay," I'd play, "Would you mind if I came up to talk to the manager in person?"
	"Sure," effeminately, with a sigh, "Let me take a shower real quick."
	"It will take a few minutes to drive," almost lunch hour, meaning traffic, "Maybe 45?"
	"Arright," he hung up.

Billy

"Yeah?" the bouncer barely opened the door, no music inside."We're closed," started to shut it.

"I'm not a customer," caught it, "I'm Dr. Young, from the Coroner's office?"

"Oh, yeah," she? let me in, "We talked on the phone."  Same deep voice, masculine inflection, but androgynous in the face.  "Marion Benedict," strong grip.  

Wearing a black pleated skirt, and ribbed A shirt, I saw bra strap across the broad back.  "Credentials?" I gave me hir my card, and handed over my ID wallet. 

Flipping through everthing, I got a chance to look her over.  Definitely a woman, but almost 6' tall, and built like a man.  Broad, in the shoulders, and hips, hir arms looked about as thick as my legs, yet stronger.  The shirt bulged out in the chest, but the round cups were small, wide apart.  The top of a Mars symbol tattooed over the neckline.  Next to it, a red circled (A), stensiled onto the shirt.

"Thanks," I took them back, "Can't be too carefull these days."

"You don't say," I giggled, "Mind if I ask you some questions?"  Feminine features, might've even been pretty once, before getting her nose bent out of shape.

"Sure," I followed Her to a booth, "Have a seat."  Across from me, I set my bag down on the low table.  Not like a restraunt, about coffee table height.

"You work security here?" sHe nodded, "Last night?"

"Yeah," a shrug, "Evrybody worked for Halloween, it's usually our best night."

"Of course," I looked around.  "This is a sex club?"

"Niteclub." sHe chuckled, "But some sex happens here, yes."

"For money?" it still looked like a front to me.

"No."  Emphaticly, "We enforce our prostitution, substance abuse, and age restriction policies, forceably if neccisary."

"You, personally?" Man sized, a woMan.

"Sure," I watched HEr shoulders go up, and down.  

"If you don't mind," I didn't ask.

"I'm a transsexualist," didn't haveto, "F2M."

I nodded back, "Steroids?"   Too broad for a natural woman, there had to be some sort of androgenic virilization for that musculature.

"Growth Hormones,"  It even strecthed the vocal chords.  sHe lifted HEr chin to show me a scar on Her throat.

"Hypothyroid," I figured.

A nod, "I had to take them to grow up."

Thyroid, and parathyroid suppliments could explain the bone structure, "Still on them?" but not the virilization.

"No," she shook her head, "I don't want to start getting more cancers."

"And you're a," could've still been a halloween costume, "Dominatrix?"

"I guess, I mean, I don't look normal, never did since before I became sexually active, so I took what I got."  Almost sad expression,  "Most of the guys, and girls who like a powerfull woman like me turned out to be subs, so I naturally found myself in the Domme position."

"Did you know," I looked down to the file, "Kathryn Addams?"

Her eyes opened, "Yeah." Blinked wetly.  "Ahem."

My guess was sexually, "How well?"

"We live together," then a telling reaction, closing her eyes again, half a breath catching, swallowed. "Or we did."

I crossed out,[Prostitute?] in my notes. "And she was here last night?"

"No," she turned away, "She left." to the door.

"You said all employees were working..."  'Barback' what is that exactly?

"Yeah," looking back to me, "She quit."  Brown eyes, the exact shade of her hair.

"Why?" [nepotistic relationship with hir boss/bouncer.]

"We," a tear rolled down, "were having problems with our relationship."  Ignored.

She wiped it away with a sniff, "You mind me asking?" 

"You know what they say about working together?" she changed the subject, "What's this got to do with her d,.." choked up.

"Anything could be important," whoops, sorry. "This early in an investigation."

"Well," the pleather seat shifted under her "She made a big scene, and stormed out." Turning away, completely.

I got up, "Did she leave with anyone?" tucked my notes away with my computer.

"No," I she sobbed.  "Not that I saw, but the door's in back, parking on the side."  She finally started crying, curled around to hide it, and I looked away.

Instead of leaving, I looked around.  It's a sex club.  Not like a bar, where people go home together, but don't do it there, beyond the quick blowjob in a bathroom stall, next to someone snorting something.  

No, it was blatent in the decor'.  Open, comfortable, and everthing's conveniently placed.  Doors in back, on an interior wall, obviously retrofitted in the off center vaulted rafters.  All of them open, shewing frames of creepily erotic rooms.  

A tiled one on the end, shower fixtures, lockers on the wall behind a bench.  A gym next, weight bench identical to the one at the crimescene.   The back tilted up, no bar across the rests, and not a single weight in sight, probably for safety.  

A massage table, and chair.  Some strange swing, only one way to sit in the straps, thighs up, and open the width of the adjustable bar.  A rack of toys, including a long broad leather paddle.  In front of it, the corner of an aparatus, of some sort.  Wood polished to a shine, metallic rings, and an open padded leather cuff hanging on it.

Stairs up to little bacony above them, overlooking the stage big enough for a dance floor across from the sound stand, about a meter off the floor.  Bar along the back wall between them, small, almost an afterthought.  Scattered tables, and chairs, randomly placed, and probably nomadic.

Booths in the corners, and across the coffee height fixed table, she was still crying.  In the corner itself, a little triangular shelf, tastefull amythistwear candy dish full of condoms.  

I sat back down, and watched her cry.  Turned away, kind of a twisted variation of the foetal position, her legs crossed twice next to her on the seat.  Thick heels, about an inch and a half lift, but wider on large feet.  Tight around ancles with prominant processes, and just above them with a zip up the back, they had to be custom.

Her long legs tapered up to powerfull looking thighs, broad hips under the pleats.  Her jacket off, she was curled over in a black ribbed tank top.  Arm folded over her chest, her broad hand over her chin, and jaw.

Her other arm was over her head, the rest of her face on the padded back of the booth.  She tried to be quiet, sob quickly in hiccup like gasps, took longer deeper breaths between.  Her back, this side of it with no visible bone.

The ribs, and scapula are covered in a thick broad curved wedge of deltoid.  Twisted around likeat, I could only see the creases on the bare part, but they fanned out, around, like a wing.  One tattooed, batlike with red pannels, and black articulation.  The corner of a face, red skinned, looking away.  An arched eyebrow over an evil eye, under a small gracefully curved black horn.

Used to being in control, even of something as chaotic as a sex club, people come here to have sex.  She wipes hir eye, breast rolling naturally into view.  "Sorry," she sniffed.

"It's all right," I nodded, "You were in the service?"

"Oh," she turned hir arm enough to see some of it, a belaying pin, a pair of handcuffs, and [M, P] on either side.  "Yeah, the Navy."  Releived by the change in subject, she smiled.  I'd gained some respect, and trust.

By not sweeping in, touching her, comforting her, but just sitting back quietly, and letting her cry it out.  Momentarilly vulnerable, she recovered, and started getting back to her own self.  "They wouldn't let me see her body."

She'd discovered it, called the police. "You don't want to," I remembered.  "She was pretty?"

"Yeah!" sHe got out a picture, didn't look at it, but handed it over.   From hir jacket, it was warm, and I caught a whiff of stale smoke from hir hand.  Cigar, I think.

A little worn, some masculinity to it, but not enough to detract from hir inheirent beauty.  S/he looked happy, hadn't seen enough pain to crease hes brow, turn down hir lips, a dimple pushed up from the smile.  "Wow," tall, and slim, reasonably feminine figure, within tolerance.  

"Can I keep this?" I held it up to my chest, pulled my brows down around my eyes sympatheticly.

She nodded, "What about you?"  A little redness in and around her eyes the only sign she'd been crying.  Asymetrical, her nose was broken, bent to the left, pulling hir smile up on the right.  Not ugly, at all, but different, special looking.

"What about me?" I blinked.

"Where are you from?" she jumped all the way to the beginning.  

"I was born in Thailand," I guessed I owed hir that much, "But moved here before I could remember much."

"Uh huh," good listener.

"I had just my father, in Kentucky, then another one in New Mexico, then kind of a mentor who was a cop.  I was a PI for a while, then made it through med school and got a job here."

"Yeah," she sat up, "What happened to your fathers?"  Frowning since I said "father," I had told it enough times I could just recite it.  I didn't pause, nor stress it neither, but I can't say what showed on my face.

"They was arrested," I admitted, "For child pornography."

"Oh."  She didn't appologuise, just softened her face, and looked at me.  Didn't ask if they abused me, didn't assume, she knew.  Didn't have to ask, make me say it, and spared me it.  "What's your sexuality?" a sympathetic change of subject.

"Idaknow," I shrugged, "I'm not gay, or nothing, but not what you'd call straight either."

"What do you like?" she sat foreward, elbows on knees.

"I don't have a type," I looked up, "I guess I like differnt things, people, not normal, but not alike neither."

She looked up, "I got to get ready to open up," stood up, and walked around toward the bar.	About caught up in trust, and respect, her right shoulder had a tattooed angel, with his wing tattered, and bound, halo hanging around his neck.

A steel braid, or chain inked over her spine, faded to blue tapering down from her short brown hair, bunched up in waves on the back of her neck.  Off her shoulders, and banged outof hir eyes, military cut.  "Hey," I headded for the door, "I think I'll come back tonight, talk to some of the other, witnesses."  SHe looked at me sternly, "Politely."

"Cover or two drink minimum," sHe turned back from the bar, "Just like evrybody else."

I went outside, smoked a cigarette, thought about hir.  Not a potential victim, the guy that did that is terrified of hir, I'd bet my job on it.  But not the perp, either.  Could possibly be lying, another M2F, capable of ejaculating, but I'd measured 7-8" penetration at least, longer than the knife blade, expanding the vulval wound.

He didn't know, found Kat's "surprise," and lost it.  But he enjoyed it, would fantasize about it.  No skin under her torn, and chipped natural nails, painted burgundy.  Only fibers, common threads.  Not even a rapist, he kept his untraceable clothes on until she stopped fighting, then necrophiled "her" corpse, cut into a "real" girl.

Not bound, the only ligature mark was the strap on hir left wrist.  Not bondage straps, something thin like the wrist strap on the "Cat," o' nine tails I saw.  It held, didn't break with a distinctive whip mark, but he has to be fairly large, and strong.

Not as strong as Benedict, though, he took the weaker one.  Maybe to hurt, and weaken her, but the first one wasn't planned.  After fantasizing long enough, he'd evolve.  Can't escalate, or accellerate without a period set by a seccond victim, so refine.  Re find an MO, the perfect scene.

Torture, snuff, and necrophilia, that won't change, and he won't leave the perfect hunting ground.  He may avoid it, but he knows he can get a victim here.  A better one, the perfect one, or the best he can find.  The victim may self select by approaching him, though.

Right, the whole sadomasochism thing.  "She" was dressed as a Dominatrix, found with the whip still around her wrist, black plastic dress cut away, black wig with red extensions.  Red shreds of underwear.  Taken in the parking lot, I tried to imagine her whole in the outfit.  Walking out for a smoke.

No, storming off in those impossible heels.  Probably 6'2 in them, but passible, fashion model thin, calves stretched by the shoes.  Practicly a hooker, but a specialist, he might have mistaken hir for one in this neighborhood.  He didn't know she was a bottom, a joke in the Domme getup, with the hidden punchline.  

So he plays it submissive, doesn't realise he's a sadist, and she decides to take a walk on the other side.  Yeah, sick of being dominated by Benedict, pissed, ready to get back, and here's this tall submissive boy to take it out on.

But he's the worst kind of switch, like the .44 faggot/killer.  Now he knows it, soon he's gonna like it, and then, someone is going to die.  He won't be here tonight, but when he comes back, I'll be here.  I'll know the place, the people in it, and see him.  I'll stop him first.

"Ashe"  (Mf NS Play)

The musik took me, around the floor, evrybody else staying back, watching, but not touching.  A sex club, and I was antisex, too pretty, but too dangerous to touch.  Elsewhere, couples were dancing, talking, touching, fucking but the world was the floor, and it was Mine.

Great Dj, we talked some more, we're both Dommes, and I'm straight, and she accepted that.  I talked to Benny too, whenever I could.  

"PROPHECY!" {PL#5} I think, she plays mostly industrial, except Halloween, which was goth night.  She played "Evry Day Is Halloween," by Ministry, evry night, except Halloween.{PL#10}

Real cool, and she thought I was cool, equal, but she doesn't know me.  Ashe is cool, I like her, maybe keep her around after all this.  I grooved on, eye out for Him.  Too early, but he might show up, check out the place, actually come inside. 
	
{PL#5} Until he stepped up, onto it, not dancing, head down, hands together.  "You," he stammered, "Yyou dance great."  The tune stopped, and I caught my breath.  "You're Ashe," he breathed my name, for now, "Right?"  He looked up, then, oriental eyes, but his skin didn't glow in the ultraviolet dark, greenish like the other Asians in the club.

My heart wouldn't slow down, it was him, I was sure of it.  He likes dommes, like that last one, dressed up as a dominatrix, but it was just a costume.  He would play submissive, just like this, but approach me, come to me just like I planned.  "Yeah," I straightend, nodded, stepped foreward into his space.

He stepped back, nervously, down to the regular floor so I was taller.  Very small, cute, almost pretty.  "Come on," I took his hand, his left in my right, "Let's go sit down."  I nodded to the bartender.

"What's your name?" I sat him down.

"Yuen," he didn't even look at me, "Yuen Ng," eyes still down, thin.

"Ashe," I shook his hand, "Ashley White."

"Is that your real name?" he finally looked up, watched my eyes.

"Yeah," I took my hand back, a subtle punishment, "My familly was called White in the the old country," I finally got to tell her story to someone, "Because of the Albinos.  When I was born, my mom said I 'Looked like Ash,' so they called me Ashley."

"Oh," he frowned, but looked back down.  

"I didn't see you," he wasn't even dressed up, boring clothes, "Last week."

"This is my first night," he shrugged, "here."

"Here ya go," the waitress dropped off the glass, slotted knife, and sugar cube, lit it for me.  

"Thenks," I blew, and shot it in one practiced move.

"Absynthe?" he guessed.

"Ahgk," I shook my head, felt the warmth spreading, the tingle up my spine.  "...Makes the heart grow fonder."  Vulnerable, with the hallucenogen already in my system.  Even if he wasn't ready to play, I am, any time.

He laughed, covered his pretty mouth.  I expected him to be bigger, taller, more masculine, but acting sub.  It fit, tho, Napoleon complex, or whatever, compensating.  

I think I got a good tolerance for it, now.  No visual hallucinations, but a whopper of a body trip, and time distortion, it doesn't retard me as much any more, but makes it easier to danse.

I thought about taking him with me, going with him.  But he wouldn't be ready, saving himself more than another week.  He's perfect for me, too bad we'll only have one chance, one time together.

CMB: Little Fugue {GM Play}

That creepy little asian guy that started hanging out walked right up to Ashe, tore her away from Prophecy{PL#5}.  I felt, I don't know, crushed, and it was a slow night.

I channeled it, into the musik @ my fingertips, pulled up some Das Ich.  {PL#8}  Start with Got ist Tod, that 15 secconds in the middle of Egodram (Self titled) to make it even more horrendus.  Nailbomb vs Godflesh to the death.	Strip the vocals, bring the synth from the tital track.  

Segue over to Trent's little Halo {PL#9}  Looks Fragile, so grab that shattering sample, but spiral down 4 Ruiner, Reptile, not Closer, but then the Pretty Hate Machine, to take the heartbreak from Something I Can Never Have.

Fugue, I had enough to improvise it in omega Major, to Alpha minor two counterpoint themes, crushing combative beats.  If I can't have her, maybe I can lure her back to the stage, watch her dance.

Yuen Ng

There was something, Idaknow, familliar about her.  The dancer, "Ash", even on the stage I could sense something undefinable, just couldn't tell what it was, how I felt about it, yet.

But I know a mask, when I see one.  Even so beautifully crafted as all that, she couldn't be what she seemed.  Young looking, too young, tiny, pretty, cute.  

The problem is, masks are like lies, even if you notice them, you can't see, or hear what they hide.  You can't know the truth, only that it isn't.

But I might could deduce it, the trick is knowing what to look for.  Just looking at her on the stage, a dance floor between shows, but it was all her.  Not officially a show, but everone else danced around her, watching.

Looking so small, helpless, vulnerable.  Her translucent outfit glowed in the ultravioled dark, too revealing to conceal anything.  Sheer white lace dress contrasting the black bra, panties.  Belted, also black, leather, quicklinks swinging behind her in a twirl, skirt flying out over her long pale legs.

She probably thinks in extremes, opposition, nothing in between.  
Dominating the floor, against her submissive appearence, she may hide herself behind the inverse, white over black, Dominance under submission, age with youth?  She got in here, but I bet Benedict wouldn't allow it if she was as old as she looked, maybe about 13.

But mature, her size, and features very childlike, but with breasts, and hips of a woman, shrunken down.  Not a speck of innocence, the way she dressed, was dancing, acts, and interacts all a mature statement, or adult, anyway.  

It says "look at me", but her eyes were everwhere, watching, looking for something, or someone she apparently thought was me.  That's how I managed to attract her, talk to her, get my answers without asking the questions.

Act submissive, the other side to her dominance.  Male for female, but emasculine, prey.  Answer her questions, but don't speak unless in response, and say what she wants to hear.  She picked up on it, accepted as the gift it was, took advantage.

Her story, "Ashe's," she told it straight to my eyes, stopped to roll hers, caught mine again, and went on talking.  Now, that's an interesting tell.  A confident liar, not pathological, but daring me to see someting in those deceptive eyes.  Doesn't tell me the truth, but does go on to say that she is fearless, confrontational, and advantageous.

Not a drop of color to her, except her eyes, pale blue, and giant.  a Luring, like her dance, the blatent paradox.  Passive Agressive, not my usual personality, but an easy enough trick to pull.  Submissive, but still in control, "topping from the bottom."

The problem with playing prey is eventually, I start to feel it.
Fear.  The irrational terror of a rabbit before a barking dog.  But she had the ears on, more catlike, cute even when she's being viscious.  Her lethal sensuous grace on the dancefloor, her stage.

I was dressed vanilla, khakki chinos, nice understated Italian shoes, three button pullover, and a blazer for the autumn night.  A sheep, over my inner wolf if you will, two predators, dressed as prey.  

"Uh," her hands above the table, she whiped out the glass with her finger.  "Are you a switch?" I researched the roles, BDSM, and their terms, symbols.  Black leather bracelets, with D rings to match her belt.  

"Domme," her eyes looked at were mine where, she set down the glass.  "oh, these."  Bondage bracelets, with the belt, you could bind her hands behind her with the carabiners, and screw down the locks.  "I can use them to restrain a sub, but I wear them so I don't have to carry them."

No accent, impossible to tell where she was from.  A utilitarian explenation, too rational, I couldn't see in her eyes whether it was the truth, and that only intensified my uneasiness.  "I'ma sub." I lied needlessly, but she didn't react.

"Yeah," I almost expected to see her breath. "I got that."  Why did I find her so intimidating?  I think I finally saw something in her eyes, subtle, at first I mistook it for lust.  Not that, she was too cold, dead inside.  In my experience, someone like her is never what they appear, and she seems so harmless.

Not love, hate.

A living, breathing walking talking dancing paradox, the horror grew immense, overpowering, obscureing all else.  The thing is, I'm not a masochist, or submissive, and I doubt I'd like being tied up, humiliated.  I don't think I could go for it, get into it, and I sure don't want to break down, crying, hanging soft, as much as she would enjoy it.

"Uh," I pulled out my buzzing phone, pretended to read it till it rang, "I got to go."

Outside, I gasped for fresh cool air, felt suffocated by the atmosphere in the club.  All those people, heating it, talking breath, filling it with their sensual scent of arousal, lust.  But not her, I never felt any from her, despite the environment, the implicit sexual undertone pervading it.

I lit a cigarette, "ahh," sighed out smoke.  Whoever it was would call back.  "Chirpchirp!" I got in my truck, and signed onto my laptop.  [Ashley White:] I started a new folder with my analysis while it was still fresh.

[Dominant, but passive agressive, she thinks in opposition of extremes.  Hides everthing with the inverse, plays submissive as a lure for dominants, and preys on them, somehow.  Obscure motive, and wants, sexual, but probably not sensual.

Sadistic?  She promises pleasure, so probably conceals pain.  Extremely experienced, she might have victims, but they may not report it, or just finds sub/masochistic enough men to enjoy it consentually.  She'd use shame, being a dominant tortured by an apparent submissive, a cute little girl, to silence them if victims.  Not a true sadist, or sociopath, they're typicly male anyway.

She likes the role reversal, the extreme contrast.  Cute, but viscious, she found somewhere she don't have to hide it.  A social outlet for her perversion, where she's appreciated for it.  Exhibitionistic, dressed at least as revealing as stark nudity.

"Ashley White" has to be an alias, a persona.  Try to find some background, if possible.  She has to have some kind of record, hopefully that I can connect...]

The perfect victim, I sat back to think.  It matches up so well with the killer, the sadistic necrophile.  Obsessed with subjegating dominants, she's not posing as it, but playing a part.  Small, and weak enough to overpower, force for real, torture instead of taking her weak punishment with play instruments, softened, and made safe.

That belt, and cuffs combo was dangerous.  She didn't know what she was dealing with, could be hurt, or killed.

Ashe

Billy, huh?  That's what "everbody" calls him, right?  Not Yuen'ng, or whatever, Billy Young.  Can't really ask about him, all suspicious, but what the fuck, it's a community, right?

Started showing up in early november, right after me, but isn't anything like the bastard I just followed across the country.  I mean, he was blonde once, nobody though anything of it, but as redneck as he talks, he's not a blonde.

Evrything else checks out, though.  A submissive playing sexual predator, rapist type, creepy.  Not like evryone else in the club, playing Ds, or Sm, but the real thing, sexual sadist, or sociopath, can't tell which.  Another?

How many we talking about here, 5?  Me, the guy from Halloween, Paul, the heroin starver, and "Dirty Harry."  One fuck of a cluster of killers, and Billy just had to be one of them.  Not Gay, so scratch the Magnum fag killer, Paul isn't blonde, but I don't know if he's capable of the escalation to Halloween.  The heroin starver's dead, and he ain't me, so yeah.

That was him saturday night, Kat missed her ride, or something, and he shows up, she's right there, crying, whiping her eyes, whip dandling from her right wrist.  A crying Dominatrix, he wouldn't have to come in.  Benny's around the corner, crying too, and bam, he drives her away, takes her home, seduces her submissively, and bam, switches.

Sketchy details, rumor more than the police are releasing.  Benny found the body, but was in no shape to talk about it, nobody else saw it.  What I'd give to get the coroner who did that autopsy alone.  He'd know, how "she" was tortured, raped to death, analy?  Mutilated, 

Now don't get turned on girl, I'm not here for sex.  Not the kind in the rules, safe, consentual loving sex dressed up as bondage, sadism, and dominance.  I'd save myself, chaste on the danse floor till he's good and ready.

Billy  {MT NS Psyc ME}

"You have a nice time?" Bene' cleaned up after the night, picking up tables like they were nothing, so I grabbed a chair.

"Damn Skippy!" I laughed, "Great place you got here."

"Thanks, Billy," I dropped of the chair, and wen ack for another. "So who toldja it was my place?"

"Nobody," actually she did, over successive conversation.  Not explicitly, but her tone, and mannerisms said "My place".

"Molly's my silent partner," she gabbed two chairs.  "She's got lots of money, but likes the noteriety of working in a sex club better than owning it."  switching to one hand, she grabbed two more, and hauled them back to the tables.

"You guys lovers?" not really curious, but I'd never seen them together.  The DJ shut down the lights, and left like she was fleeing, before the bartender even finished counting out.  Neat bar, transparent so you could see the bondage gear, toys, lube, and so forth offered underneath.  Safe sex packets were available free, all overe the place.

She flipped the chairs, set them on the two I brought, "We never went out, or anything," she didn't finish that though, just turned, and pointed behind the bar.  "Grab a broom."

Yeah, she was embarassing my help with the furniture.  "But you're not a lesbian."

"No," I she chuckled, "You?"

"I'm not gay," I chuckled back, "If that's what you mean."

"I can't be," she looked me in the eyes, "I'd have to find someone like me for that, and since evrybody's different, I'm straight with all of them."

"Yeah," I nodded, "I'm something likeat."  Sweep, sweep, "Do I need to get a membership, or something?"

"Be my Guest," I laughed at her little pun, "but if you come back, try to meet the dress code."

"What?" I looked down.  Halloween was over, but I still had on my serial killer getup.  I mean, the way real serial killers dress, trying not to, but I guess she didn't catch on.

"You stick out like a cock in a coctail dress."  I had to laugh hard at that, then gathered the dust in a pile while she grabbed the pan.

"That one of your Benedictisms?" I decided to call them.

"You can call me Marion," she bent over, broad back curved like a dome to sweep up the pile.

"I like Bene'," Latin for 'Good.'  She looked down, smiling, eyebrows curved under her bangs, around her brown eyes.  "Can I see your tattoos?"

"Which ones?" she swallowed.

"The back?" I looked down at hir scar, a black line tattooed below it.  She turned, and I followed it around hir shoulder to a round knot on the back of her neck.  Her back flexed, lifting off her shirt.  A broad flat rippling surface, it tapered down.

As did the whip, along her spine, like the one in the hand of the figure on hir left shoulder.  She broadened, straightened with a couple audible pops.  Flat, I could see every detail of the figure on each shoulder.

On the left, the succubis, sex demoness, naked, beautifully evil.  Bonelessly curvaceous, the whip held back, behind her rump, curling down like a tail.  On the other side of her hip, a long taper of reddish flesh, triangular tip, but all curves.  Barbed, like a devil tail, except in front.

Grinning sadisticly over at the other shoulder, the angel bound, striped with welts.  Wings torn, and bloody, feathers tattered like mange.  Head down, broken, but beautifull, tears streaking his shiny armored chest.  Emasculated below that, hanging in a shred with no dignity, ruined.

"Fantastic," magic taken to the extreme.  Internally consistant as a lifelong delusion, and evocative.  I shouldn't have to interpret it, but for those not up to speed, hir inner demoness controls hir inner angel, male, but emasculine, bound, sexually maimed to a cripple.  Very little blood, just enough to emphasize the contrast, on his white skin.

Her whip, the pain demoness' wrapped around hir throat, holding the penis, enslaved to it.  "Dominant Masochist?"

"Yeah," sHe turned, twisted muscularly, almost changed shape.  "Then there's this one," sHe turned around, made no effort to cover her chest, hanging.

"Question Gender," I read easilly enough.  Question mark with the male, and female symbols added, simple.

"Yeah!" hir face lit up with a wide crooked smile.

"Gynecomastoid mammal atrophy," I'd looked back down.

"Huh?" Hir breast are small, widely spaced, and sag almost to the point of pancake.  "Orangutan titteh," like a great ape, flopped over the pectorali with dark nipples almost to the lower edges.  Pulled outward, steeply diagonal by the underlying shelf of muscle, cockeyed, like Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein.

If not steroids, then some kind of androgen.  Can't say testosterone, yet, but either a powerfull one, or a lot of it over an extensive period of time.  "Hey!" sHe shoved me playfully, but with more than enough force to emphaSize the difference.  Large, and powerfull, sHe had to be at least twice my mass, and I'd estimate 4-5 times as strong as me.

Tapering down, the triangular wings visible around the side.  "Just let me have a lookat you."  Vertical striation in the abdominals, fanning out to the obliques.  Not a rib showing, just muscular sinusoidal waves where they should be.

"Can I see the rest?" she looked down, frowned under her bangs, waved down just over her normally straight, brown eyebrows.  Light brown eyes, tanned complection with a reddish undertone, not makeup, but a barely visible flush, her lips thicker than usual.

"I was going to crash," she undid her belt, "But."  Drop the skirt, thunking heavilly from all the stuff in the pockets over lycra shorts. Just above the waistline, the top of another tattoo, faded to blue, two circular arcs.  "Let me see what you got," she pulled out my shirt by feel, and reached in.

Obviously not an erection, I wasn't feeling anything.  Fascinated by the physical specimine in front of me, I reached out to pull down hir shorts.  Already muggy with her musk, and his very masculine smelling sweat.  Lots of hair even above the pubic mesa, a stripe past her deep navel crevace.

In the hair, another tattoo, impossible to make out completely.  I bent my knees, crouched, and set down the broom.  Held the spandex for hir to step out of in hir boots.  Smooth medium tone muscular legs, thickening up to hir genitals.  

Thick brown curls of pubic fur, obscurig all but the blued curls of the tattoo under it.  I could see hir thick labia, wrincled like scrotal tissue, but hairless.  Between them the centimeter thick cylindric fold of hir clitorus.

I expected megaly, but as it continued to harden, the skin rolled back to the meatus.  Cleft, it spread like a flower of skin, reddish with blood.  "Perfect."

"Perfectly what?" sHe asked.

"You." I got up, fixed my pants, didn't care if sHe thought I ejaculated prematurely, or not.

"I was gonna crash here," she propped her hands on hir broad hips, "Or I could go to your place."

I turned, "You're not done greiving."  She blinked, gorgeous, but confused. "I like you too much to do anything too soon."

Definitely testosterone, not di-hydro, from her unaffected hairline, small doses over years.  If you took a girl, with the thyroids removed, and put her through male adolescence, that's what you'd get.  Impressive, but not no nine inches, no external testes, or inguinal smears, so not ejaculatory.  She was a victim, like Kat.

Or Ashe, like a perfect victim.  Tiny, helpless, obviously unarmed, but dominant, forcefull, and demanding.  Like a vision, you can't not look at her, watch her hystrionic mating display.

I could depend on myself to protect her, or be realistic about it.  I'm not much bigger than her, armed, but shooting high penetration magnums in a crowded club is a losing proposition.

Maybe I could bring 3K with me next time, I chuckled.  This isn't a game, I tell myself, this is a fight, possibly to the death.  Not bound by rules, 64 squares, legal moves, but organic, analogue, potentially lethal.  Still, she looked like a princess, but ruled the dance floor.

And who counters a white queen?

Knight {M NS Muse}

"You feel me?"
	I paused, caught the rythm of the beat a few, then let it flow.
"Kummin up behind
No scents, no sound,
just a somethin in your mind."  I got ta fill that something in.  "Playen?"
Not feeling, to repettitive, somethin else.  Three four, 
"Juss likeat," (Kap Kap Kap) ", the last thing you felt.  Then you hit the pavement from the damage that I dealt." I cin work onat.  
"Like the last and the next,
you all gotta fall.
take a nutha sucka out my way
'till I get it all."
	"Mutha," I cut the track, "Fucker!" pikt upda phone, "Whut!"
	"Sorry K," Billy, "You busy?"
	"Nah," I lost the rythm anyway, "Just writin."
	"What?" he seemed intrested.
	"Workin on my rhyme," I flipped shut the blue loose leaf, {(c) Ice T} "Ikin git back to it."
	"Still think you need theme music?" he chuckled.
	"Yeh!" I chucked my head, "Just one song, an if they like it." Fuck, Will Smith cin do it.  I took my ear away, shook my head clear of the street mouth.  Dr. Young likes proper English, not proppa word.
	"Good luck with that," I never heard him listen to music before, but I know he don't like Hip-Hop, much less Gangsta.  Fuck, I'm a gangster, or what he, and Hank call counter gangster, and I'm famous.  "Whatcha doin tonight?"
	"Nuthin much," it'd been quiet lately, "You got something goin on?" at least on the G.
	"Lots," he sounded tired, "They're still canvassing for the .44 faggot, but we both know that's over." Yeh, Hank got rid of that peice.   "Now, it looks like the next one's already getting started."
	"The Halloween thing?" some girl mutilated beyond recognition, most of the stabs after she was already dead.  Hey, I follow crime, all crime.  Serial Sex crime isn't my jurisdiction, but it distracts the cops, which is what makes it what Billy calls a "significant datum."
	I learned a lot from him, he knows his shit.  "Yeah, that."
	"Where you at?" might be a nice change of pace.  Serial killers scare most people, but they kill low risk, victims, one at a time.  When you killed three armed men at the same time all by yourself, more'n once, the creepy sneaks ain't so scary, and when you're not scared of them, they lose most of their power.

Benedict {Tf, PL#4}

	I wasn't done greiving, but life goes on.  Another weekend, we can't afford to stay closed in this economy, no matter how well we did for Halloween.  I stayed back, quiet, tried not to let them see me cry for like a week, and a half.
	"Why," I fixed my face, "Dr. Young."  He told me he'd come back.
	"Hey," he nodded up at me, "Just thought I'd ask around, meet some of the others."
	On a member's only night, not specificly a sex night, but I can be a lot more relaxed about the rules.  It's a pretty close community, like a small town, nobody's got nothing evrybody hasn't been exposed to for long, and pretty body fluid secure through good discipline.
	Not counting newbies like him, and Ashe, both guests of me, or Molly.  Kinda reserved, I'd bet he'd know if he got something right away with all he has access too.  "No more questions?" I relaxed with a deep sigh.
	"Maybe," he smiled guiltilly, "Did she do any drugs?"  I didn't ask who, why he avoided her name.
	"No," I shook my head, "I mean they were part of her treatment, but she was always afraid of interactions."
	"What about Viagra?" he pulled a sheet out of his pocket, unfolded it, and I realised he didn't have his bag with him.
	I nodded, "To counter the effects of the Estrogens."
	"Exctacy?" he read.
	"No." she was other wize straight edge.
	"Acid?" didn't even drink.
	"Uh Uh."  I ment it.
	He went in, and Ashe slowed, watching him.  Slow night, evrybody recovering from Halloween, saving up for next weekend.  She saw me watching, dansed for me.  From across the room, slow, sexy.  No telling where she'd been, looking, and acting like that.
	Molly switched up in the middle of the track.  From Every Day Is Halloween to her remix of My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult - "The Velvet Edge."  Sour grapes, she'd tried to get into that oh so visible underwear for weeks now, gave her a Ribbon.
	I ached for her, someone, something other than my hands.  Not Molly, I went to her first.  "When you get the chance," I stood up to shout over the edge of her console, "Brute."
	Hopping down, I walked across the stage.  Again cut short, she mixed it in, the tingling precussive intro to the heavy guitar groove of Mann, and McCoy.  I hadn't done this since Kat {\\Consentual/Gender Bender} but this was my song, like Ribbons for Molly, when she's going for a goth chick.
	I like the KMFDM, swung my hips, and shoulders to dance beat, not quite industrial, Electric Body Muzik.  The whispered vocals, lips in sync,
	"Between the licker, the led, the lies that I've said,"  Now I had her attention, cooperation, danse counterpoint to mine.  "Between my mind, and my crime, and me in the grind."  We came together, her between my legs, getting down, and dirty.
	"Between the gun, the lead, the lies that I've said," my hands came up, to her face, hair, "And from your sweet breath comes the dawn of my death..,"
	"Touch me," she did, "Need me," hands around to my back, electric chug, Jnn jnn jnn jnn, "Give yourself to me, and break me."
	We jammed together for the chorus.  "Cut these eyes," I bent down to her face looking up, "And I will see,"  Closer, "Kiss these lying lips for me," hers soft, receptive, "Stroke this skin," my hands petting down her neck to her shoulders, "And I will kneel."
	"Brutalize me," On her knees at my feet, "I will heal."
	
Ashley {TG Bond Saph Cunn Dild Frip}

	sHe stood over me, magnificent.  sHe seen me, watched me, dansing, for Her.  sHe came to me, matching red, but burghundy, velvet vest, and short pleated skirt in wine, only making her look manlier.  High heeled shoes pulling her legs tight, not a spot of makeup.
	She took me back to her room, the closet, locked both doors with us between them.  Outside, the musik was muffled, distant.  She closed it with authourity, not slamming it, but Owning it, and I tried to slow my heart, breathe deeper.
	I'm not gay, but neither's this.  Scared, even, I couldn't take my mind all the way off my blade, it's hardness against me, pressing my skin against the bone.  Just this once, have sex, make love, not hate.  I heard it around the club, "Never trust a Dom/mme who never subbed."
	I forgot, what it was like to be a victim.  It's better for me, if I know what they're feeling, but I lost touch with it.  subSpace, I looked up from it, the dark corner deep in me, the crying place.  Tears of releif trickled down my cheeks.
	No longer a dance, a game, HEr strong hands un-dressed me, pulled it over, skillfull removed my bra.  The belt came off, knife falling free to clunk down, pommel first.
	She looked up, head cocked to the side, and raised an eyebrow.  Her lip curled up, higher in half a smile.  She wasn't mad, but looked releived.  Pulling open the snaps of her vest, matching burgundy wife beater.
	"Brutalfull."
	sHe chuckled against me, thighs over mine, heavy.  I could feel her, idaknow, mass.  Weight pulling me into Her, gravity.  Pulling back, biting the corner of her lip.
	Lifting up, body panning over me like a star destroyer {(C) George Lucas}  Hot muggy sweat, manly, more like wood, not quite as hard as bone. Stubble brushing my lips, between her boobs, hanging down around my face.  Almost smothering me with my own breath, but her thighs rolling up my ribs.  
	Large hands, tickling my nipples, making me giggle.  Ripples of HEr midriff, line down the middle, belly button in a deap crack down the middle.  I lapped at it, salty around the tip of my tongue.  I could feel her moaning sigh, smell her lust.  
	She pulled back, showing me her still prickly front, another tattoo on it.  Two curls, like the ends of rot iron, with a U shape hanging in front of it.  Not a symbol from anything I know, it looks like a dick, hanging between the balls, pointing down.
	I knew it was cumming, stepping up to stand on the door, knee pressing down the top of my arm.  Hands in my hair, I opened my eyes.  Her face, looking down HEr body, like looking across the land from here.  		Crooked smile, nose, one nostril flared, the other pinched to a 9.  Her eyes, brows curled around them, dark, pits mine fell up into.
	I didn't say nothing, even before my mouth was full.  My eyes looking down, it cumming in to darkness, crushing me face first.  Not a word, deMand, forcing me to kiss Her.  "Mmmn," meaty, blood warm like steak just cut off the cow, still twitching, bloody even.
	Now, this is supposed to be a safe sex place, but I found myself enjoying it, the familiar tang in my nostrils, the dirtiness of it.  Just the latest virginity lost, I kinda go through them backwards.  Anyway, I never ate someone out before, another girl, much less a woMan.
	I found him, her little boy, peeking out.  Enough to suck on, but never very hard, as hard as the rest of hir.  To little to fuck with, I think, but more than I imagined any woMan to have.
	Not quite like rape, the power play, size diffrence, my submission, but not the pain, his joy in it, moment of vulnerability inside me. 
	Not hard, but chubby with blood, webbed around her hole with two lips, a spongey head in the folds where they came together.  I sucked him out, slipped my tongue behind, up a little cut in the back, to the hole at the top.
	No piss taste, she had to wash, and wipe really good.  Wet on my chin, almost in her, I could feel it, HEr superiority, my inferiority, kneeling under Her, giving HEr pleasure.  Not enough to fuck, but plenty to suck.  I slipped my hands up, between her powerfull thighs.
	Empty, it was right there where it fell, I could reach it, but wouldn't need it.  She wasn't going to force me down, into me, rape me, she couldn't.  I touched her, felt inside, her sigh over me.

Molly {F NS Play}

	As soon as she said "Brute", I knew it was over.  I lost, remembered the first time i played it for Her.  Don't trust any Domme who never subbed, I learned so much from Her.  I felt it, subspace, the freeDom of knowing you can scream as much as you want, struggle as hard as you can.
	The top is so much more shackled to the scene, ironicly enough to confuse most vanillas.  Responsible for everything, and if anything goes wrong.  She's the one who has to freeze at the first utterance of the safe word, controlled by it.
	I don't know, I put on Ruiner, to honor Her triumph.  {PL#9}  "How'd you get so big?  How'd you get so strong..."  I just cried, Wretched, noone standing on the dance floor to see.
	Sighing, I put my goggles back down, my hand on my forehead.  I don't know how her Gothness rubbed off on me.  I hadn't put it on yet, so I qued "Everyday is Halloween," decided to let the noir kids have another night.  It was as dark as my mood, Bauhaus, Psychotica, Depeche', not Sisters of Mercy.  A Slight Case Of Overbombing on that one.
	I never played it, started over with "People are People."  Upbeat, Yello - Ola Kolate (Stella).  Yeah, get to work Grrl.

Billy (MM Race Bond Oral Anal Safe)

Yeah, he's not coming till he's ready.  I kept my eyes open, interviewed many men who seemed to fit the preliminary profile, but that didn't narrow it down much.  Male cut about half the feild, submissive fascade less than half that, eliminate the small ones, that still left hundreds.

Xavier, pronounced "Ksavea," archetypic Dom.  A little soft around the middle, receeding hairline, working out his midlife by tying up, and playfully torturing little girls.  The first members night, he put on a show with Lexi, streotypic subbie girl.  Cute, collared, I'd never even seen her speak, unless spoken to.

They did a scene, with red candlewax, pseudo vampiric in the Dungeon room.  Most of the other's looked bored, but I watched long enough to see they knew what they was doing.  Safe, and consensual, almost loving the way she looked at him.  He wore a rubber, easilly large enough, but the wrong pathology.

My perp played sub to lure Dommes, so look at the subby men, tall enough, cute, even pretty on the danse floor.  "You want to dance alone?" he shook his head, kept up the rythm.  Dressed gayly, not faggy, but nice, flattering, coordinated, and finely tailored.  Halloween over, an 80s style pant suit, a muted navy, as far as I could tell in the flickering, panning colorchanging light.

And the near UV, it pervaded the whole club, so everthing white shone.  Ashe was warming up, clearing the center stage, claiming it.  Now, I'm not much of a dancer, so I just kept rythm.  "Over here," a bad case of stripper eyes, he's white too, dark brown hair, and eyes, unnatural superpurple glow distorting his face.

Still, kinda pretty, about the same size as me, but with anglo features, nice wide eyes.  Compound curve to the jaw, rounded corner at the side of his neck.  Turning the other way, an assymetry, one cheekbone higher than the other.  "You dance well," that's right, here.

"You're not great," refreshing honesty, he stopped.

"Sorry," I did too, "Never had a good partner to learn from."

"I teach dancing," I followed him down the steps, "Professionally."

"Oh," turning to look back, up.  Maybe I read him wrong, the killer I mean.  Maybe he was gay, and picked out Kat because as Bene says, she stuck out like a cock in a coctail dress.  It would match his role reversal MO, turning dommes into victims.  Only one victim, maybe he was chosen because he had a dick.  "Maybe you could give me some pointers."

Free ones, I don't need to pay for lessons.  "You don't have the hips for all that lower body."  I guess I was trying to dance like Ashe.  "Are you faemily?"  Not normally gay acting, he said the last word almost effeminately.

"Extended familly," I guessed, "I haven't found what I like yet."

"Well, what did you try?"  I looked over at the bar, and the tender nodded with a smile.

"Age play," I looked back, "Some drag, group stuff.  How 'bout you?"

"Bondage," he smiled whistfully, "Mostly," looked back at me.  Kinda light brown eyes, almost blonde.

"Top, or bottom?" using the gay words.

"Switch," the killer wouldn't identify as that, would lie about it, even to himself.  "Both positions have their charms."  He winked, twice, both eyes.

The waitress brought over a beer, and some red wine.  Just one to losen me up.

"So do you," I admitted, with a giggle when he wagled his eyebrows.  "I never done neither," but it would be good research.  "What's the attraction?"

He sighed, not looking up to lie, but recall an emotional memory, "The top's easy, the power trip, but you're almost a slave to to scene."  Definitely not the killer, "You see, it's the Dom who's responsible, if anything goes wrong, and you're bound by the safe word."

"Isat so?" I couldn't tell if he preferred submission,

"But the bottom is ironicly freer.  Yeah, you're tied up, and all, but you can thrash, and scream all you want.  You can take it, whatever the Dom dishes out, and stop it any time you want."  Or was trying to talk me into it.

"Sounds," that's why he was a switch, "Interesting," he got off on the irony, the sub in control of the Dom, but not likeat.

"Would you like to try?" it was a members only night, Bene' had to clear any guests, but I was her's.

I set back, looked around.  Slow night, all regulars, and no matter the pathology, He's not a regular, not here tonight.  "Sure," I looked to the private rooms, all open, and empty.  He got up, helped me up, held onto my hand.

"Billy," I looked up from his thick heeled shoes to his eyes.

"Colin," Irish name, but American, probably some kind of mix.  Looked like mediterranian too.  "You D/S?"

"Not yet," I shrugged, "But I'll save that." for when I feel like it.  The killer, not him, didn't use bondage, but physical restraint, finger, and thumb bruises on hir forearms.

I skipped ahead, led him right past the bare cinderblock walls of the Dungeon, it's inquizitional seating, racks of toys.  Not the bower, either, past the locker room.  There is no other bathroom, toilets along the wall, no stalls.  A man in chaps is pissing in one of them.  I kind of have to turn myself on, and it can take a while at this age.

But the gym looks nice.  A "Gym," you'd have to bring weights, and stuff in to actually work out.  I sat down, the first time I been in here.  "No," he froze with the door half open, "Don't close it."  That way, if something goes wrong, there's witnesses, help right away.  

"Aight," not like the black pronounciation, but not a Dialect I was familiar with.  "Do you have a safe word?"

"No?" never needed one before.

"You understand that it's the all stop to end the scene if you get overwhelmed?" he said formally.  Concent is never assumed here, it says that next to the door.

"Yes." I said explicitly, and nodded.  I don't know when, or how I chose the bottom, probly when I set down.  One of them overhead pull down cable machines, it had heavy duty cuffs for the handles.

"I like 'Kaput'," he said.

"Works for me," I looked down.

"I have to hear you say it," he stood back, arms crossed over the unbuttoned front of his jacket.  Turtleneck underneath, the lights in here were florescent, brought out the sky blue under the Navy, made his hazel eyes look bluer.

"If I say 'Kaput'," get it out there, "Stop."

"Right," he took a step foreward, and behind him I saw people gathering at the door.  The first exhibitionist thing I done by choice, I sighed, and accepted this was a night for learning.  "Now I'm going to bind you," he reached out over me, to the hanging cuffs, and pulled them down with a tight rasping sound.  "Ok?"

"Yes," to move things along, "I want you to tie me up."  I was actually getting excited!  His pants so close, I could smell him, his colone, not flowery at all.

"Hold these," he handed me the cuffs, "Here."  Not only padded with heavy royal blue cloth, the connection to the cable was as well, several inches up.  "Viiiiip!" he pulled it tight, my arms up over me, holding onto the handles.

"Hold on," I watched him take one of the cuffs, wrap it around my wrist, pull the velcro tongue through, and wrap it around securely.  "Not to tight?" didn't feel to bad, kind of warm, safe, not scary at all.

"Yeah," I nodded.  He secured the other one, and I relaxed, just hanged there.  He twisted something down behind me, locking the cable tight.  I could pull as hard as I wanted, but he squatted in front of me.  I could feel more cuffs, hear velcro ripping.

I closed my eyes, and breathed.  Before, I could jump, kick, stand up to get enough slack and undo the cuffs, but he also raised the seat back, "clip"ed and tightened a broad padded belt between my hips, and my ribs.  "Comfortable?"

I never been tied up likeat before.  Even my daddys, and the other men just held me, bigger, an stronger'n me, and kept me locked up, but in a room.  I could get up, try to get out, but now, he could just leave me, tied up there, and there'd be nothing I can do.  I tried reaching the buckles on my wrists, but they were too broad, against my wrists so I can't bend them enough.

He was watching my eyes.  I Trusted him, smiling a little, but concern in his eyes, reassuring, empathy from him, a stranger.  "Yeah," but now I felt bound, helpless, people watching me.  A little girl under a man's arm.   Xavier, his hand on her breast, both watching intently, other arm comming around front to mollest her.

Colin walked back, turned around, and dropped his jacket on the press bench in the center of the room.  No tie to loosen, he untucked his turtle neck, smiled, and pulled it over his head.  Nice, light fur on his chest, kind of a triangle of waves, not curls.  Good muscle, traction for pulling, thick round biceps, but not much triceps, or pectorali.  Wirey forearms, ripling with tension while his fingers worked, in front of him, undoing his pants.

Mine felt tight, and as they slid heavily down, I saw a nice bulge in his tight light blue shorts.  He stepped out of them, walked toward me, swinging cantilevered.  I like dick, doesn't have to be huge, but his is bigger than mine.  Reddish complection, especially full of blood, circumcized head bulging redly, like a bell.

"What would you like?" he turned, swiveling on his feet to show his thigh from the side, butt tight behind it, dick full lenth from the side.  I licked my lips, it had been a while, since I'd been with a man.  I couldn't reach for him, move at all.

"I want that," I nodded, mouth open, "I wanna suck your dick."

"Aright," he grinned, turning, running his hand up his thigh.  In the other one, he already had a condom out, unwrapped.  He rolled it on with a finger, and thumb, pushing through his fist, right for my mouth.

"Agh!" My breath caught, and I felt my lips seal, cheeks bulge slightly from trapped air.  I sucked in, wrapping them around, pushing my mouth foreward.  The rubbery taste is distracting, but it's the rules, not out of place in here.  Benedict next to the plaque, arm up on the door frame, half a smile under her crooked nose.

That was before my view was blocked by his hips, flat muscular midrift, pubic curls brushing the tip of my nose.  "Mmm!" I could smell him, sweat, masculine.  I tipped up, shifting his hips, the angle of him in my mouth.  I could look up at him, the stripe of hair up his muscular abdomen to the navel, his grin, the arousal in his eyes.

He pulled back, sliding out on my tongue.  His fingers in my hair, strong hands, gently pressing me, guiding my head, sliding back in my mouth.  Warm, but not meaty flavor because of that damned barrier.  How I wanted to taste him, feel him burst in my mouth, the thick tangy spurt of his cum.

His chest on my hands, in his, arms curled in front like wings.  His breath, heartbeat againts my pinkys. Sliding down my arms, around my shoulders, fingers in my hair,..

But he pulled out, pointed at me, and I panted, wanting to wipe my mouth.  Real intense, the bondage it'self, overpowering, but not quite too intense now that I could breathe, say the safe word again.  But I didn't.

Sinking down to set on my legs, hands busy between them, getting me open, out.  Strong hands, petting me, but not crushing, or rough with callouses.  Warm on my bare skin, my hardness, stroking gently. He had to pull my hips foreward, while I lifted my butt to get them down.  He stroked me one handed, tore open another prophylactic with his teeth.

Everbody was watching, standing around, sitting, kissing, petting, opening clothes, and reaching inside.  Even Ashe, Molly behind her.  The little white fairy looked real turned on, fascinated, but Molly just had eyes for her.  Bene' winked, smirked.

"Uh!" his lips felt so warm, sliding on the dry rubber in his fingers, smoothing it tight with his tongue.  I closed my eyes, man he could give some damn head.  "Huhh!" it was hard to breathe, my ribs held out by my arms, still hanging above me.  I was at his mercy, his mercifull mouth.

I wanted to reach down, touch him, feel his hair in my fingers, head pulling back, lips tight, sucking till my cute little head bulged in his mouth.  He lapped at it, the latex squeeky, and my hips twitched.  Not an orgasm, yet, but almost as intense.  "Gah!"

I looked down, felt him raise his chin, a little scrape of teeth through the barrier.  Not at all bad like a bite, he smiled, looking at me.  His mouth full, double wink.  I could feel it, cute crescent dimples popped in around his lips.  His hands under me, thumbs around my tighs, pressing my scrotum, perenium.

I slid foreward to his gentle pulling, sucked back in, head comming down to his throat, twitching around my latex coated glans.  He swallowed, rubber squeek making me twitch again, tongue sliding back, and forth.  "ohh!" I moaned, felt his thumb slide down, glove tip rolling on my perenium.

I'd been touched there before, but not since I was a boy.  Even Charley just let me fuck him, never stuck anything in me.  "Do you consent?" he let my dick fall hard, shiny on my belly.

"Yes," not just ready, "please."  I wanted it, him to, "Please fuck me."

"Relax," he smiled, rubbed my, me there.  I don't like the whole shit aspect, but I'm a guy.  There's only one way to fuck me, and it had been so long, I had forgotten what it feels like.  Back in his mouth, his thumb was dry, just rubbing, relaxing me without penetration.

It felt so good, the twinges from it traveling up my dick, in his mouth, sucking skillfully.  Now, I'm pretty good at it, but I had so much to learn.  He used the rubber, as the name suggests, the distinctive texture, clingy friction, and before I knew what was happening, my perinococcx muscle twitched against his thumbs.

"Uh!" I gasped for breath, felt the rush of oxygen, pleasure up over me.  My rectal sphincter pulsed, like a cervex, kissing the ball of his thumb, bunching the dry latex.  He sucked, the tip bulging, filling with the wet splashes.

"Huh, huh!" I panted, hunched reflexivley as he carefully pulled it off.  It squeeked around my ultrasensitive glans.  Holding the ring tight, he squeesed the last thick gob out, pinching the head, sealing the rubber sleeve at the bottom.  Hunching foreward, my butt rolled ack from the edge, pulling closed.

Standing up, he swung stiffly next to me, pale with the latex coating.  He adjusted the seat back, so I was almost laying, the tention on the cable behind me.  But now I could slide foreward, to the edge, my legs wide as the machine's, exposed.

He grinned, held gloved fingers under my loosened hole, and squeezed it out.  It rolled down, warm, wet.  His tongue lolled, thick throat spit hanging.  "Llpt!" it fell, slapped on my relaxed scrotom, rolled down slowly.  I relaxed, let him work his gloved pinky in, didn't feel any nail.

He twisted slightly, maybe 1/8th turn, then back, and forth, a 6th, 5th, quarter, third, all the way over, his first knuckle passing through, into me.  I just breathed, not too deep, let my breath catch up.  Don't tense, damn!  He just stopped, smiled, and wiggled a little.  Backing out a skosh, it slipped in even more, and he worked in the next joint.

"Uh!" I closed my eyes, let my head fall back on the seat.  "Huhuhuh!" shallow shuttering breaths, the gentle scrape of his pinky tip on my Prostate.  Adult, fully developed, I never knew what that felt like, right after an orgasm, my soft milked dicky twitching inside.  "Whuh!"

He pulled back, worked another finger in, then switched to his thumb.  I kind of drifted off, not unconcious, but off to la la land where there's not light, nor sound, just sensation.  Two fingers now, "walking" in me, tapping on my prostate, and it was almost as good as comming, just differnt.

He pulled out, standing up on his knees, hands in front of him, petting himself hard.  "Yes," my heart beat hard, and fast, expectantly.  I pulled on the cuffs, lifted, spreading my thighs around his hips. "Oh, god," I could feel him, "YeS!" pressing, sliding in in one long slow thrust. "ei!" I think, a little breathless squeek.

He pulled back, and I sighed.  "Plop."  The wet smack of his hips against me.  My scrotum bunching up on his pubic fur, sticking to my soft dicky, lolled to the side.  "Plop," Long, slow deep thrusts, carefull not to pull out, or punch in, tear my rectal wall.  I didn't think about such things, the risks, what can happen if you do it wrong.  

"Plop," my scrotom shaking, "pop," falling back slack, "plap."

"Ahh," his breath tight, "Yeah!"  To tell the truth, I was starting to get bored with it, climbing back out to reality.

Ashe was staring at me, head to the side, smiling.  People were openly fucking now, and sucking, not quite an orgy, but scattered couples, a trebel, all adding to the decadent mood of the scene.  

"Uh!" he pulled out, it off, splashing out his orgasm on my belly.  "Uhuhuhuh!"

I looked down, watched the wet spurts, not even stroking, just holding it like a hose, aiming it at my navel.  "Ah fuck yeah!" he breathed, gasped, bent over me to lap it up.  I don't have no belly hair, just a dark brush on my pubis, so I think he got it all, dug the last out of my navel with his tongue.

Then he unBound my hands, the door clear for him to walk out, naked, muscular dancer's ass clenching side-to side.  I caught my breath, stripped off my clothes, and followed him around.  He turned next door, into the locker room, and I heard water before I came around to see in.

I closed the door, didn't lock it in case someone needed the toilet, urinal, or bidet.  "Mind if I join you?"

"No problem," he stepped back, handed my the shower head.  Nice, and warm, we washed each other.  "How was that?"

"Fine," I turned, stood wide, felt the water splashing up behind me.  Just great, actually, I concidered it a personal break through.  After we were clean, and dry, we went back to get dressed.  A lot of the rooms were taken, but the gym was open.

Every aparatus was in use, a bi/strait couple holding someone cuffed to the weightless bench.  Our clothes were folded up on the side, under the mirrored wall.  The cable machine was being used by a dominatrix, and her collared sub, bound to the butterfly attachment.

All safe, concentual, Colin headded for the dance floor, and I went out for a cigarette.  "Was that okay?" I asked Bene' self conciously.

"Yeah," she chuckled, palmed something, "Real hot."  I caught a skunky whiff over the spicey tang in the air.

"Is that a clove?" Ashe turned, "I thought they was illegal."

"Yeah," she held it out, draped in her fingers like a roach in a pair of bent nose foceps, "But clove oil isn't."  Long, and thin, a slim 120, it was darkened by spots.  Almost like Kaiser Sosa' {The Usual Suspects} only without supporting the filter with her thumb.

"You make your own," easy enough with a needle.  Perfect to the Core, her persona was as internally concistant as a delusion.

The sodium vapor made her eyebrows, and hair look a little yellow, but the only lamp in the alley, the rest dark around us either way to the ends, one covered with chain link.

It silloetted anyone comming, though, and the couple kissing against the chainlink.  I couldn't tell which side, they were in shadow, the tall one holding the other's hands over him, legs stretched by pointy looking heels.

Ashe (GM NS)

We never got to talk after the other night, so after she got bored watching that creepy asian guy getting fucked, I followed her out.

She smoked weed, good stuff smelled like, and offered me some, but I didn't need to fuzz up my head.  The alcahol loosened me up, helped me danse even without the low grade hallucinogen, but I didn't want to get sick, or nothing.

I reached up to her face, the most girly looking part of her.  Not rough at all, no stubble, or shaving, but almost pretty.  "What happened?" I ran my thumb down her nose.

She shrugged, "When I was in the service, I used to bounce for the NCO club.  This Officer got to drunk, and I had to kick him out."  She winced with the memory, "The doctors said they could re-set it, straight, but it hurt too much."

I let my hand slip down to her shoulder, a masochist, I think, but a broken nose isn't sexy pain, and she might've been more vanilla back then.  I ran my finger across her throat, "And this?" a surgical scar.

"When I was a little girl," her voice buzzed under my thumb, "I got thyroid cancer, and they had to take them out."

"Is that how you got so big?" Like that Nails song after Closer {PL#9, Ruiner}

"Yeah," she swallowed, "I had to take growth hormones to develop, after I got done with Chemo, and evrything."  Evrybody says 'ever', like Billy, or 'evry', like me, and Benny, almost never 'Every.'  Anyway, "I started early, but stayed on them late, so it came out more like male puberty.

"Uh huh," I kept petting the scar, so like one of mine.

"How 'bout you?" She touched me, my tummy, the long line under the gausey fabric.

I sighed, "Kinda like you," thought of a good story on the fly, "I was born with other, congenital disorders sides the Albinism."  She watched my eyes, but didn't catch the lie.  "I had a Uterine growth," not a Cancer, turned out to be a Gemini, "And they took it all out, from the Cervex up.

"Did you take hormones?" my body, it's that obvious.

"Uh huh!" I looked her in the eyes, "To grow like you, but I didn't get no bigger, just more developed."  I left out most of it, my brother, father, and doctor.  Our daughter, Genevy.

Anyway, Billy come out, and we shut up.  I don't know why I trusted her that much, with that much of the truth, but Billy was something else.  I'm not sure what, yet.

I waited for HEr to go in, "I coulda toldja he wasn't the guy you're looking for."

"Pardon?" he sipped his ultralight menthol to cover his mouth with his fingers, "I don't understand whut you're talking about."

Hiding the cigarette too, like a middle school kid back behind the portables, he dressed the part.  More like Kindergarden, blue ballcap, yellow shirt, green overalls that should've been Labled [Oshkosh] red canvas Allstars, evrything in Crayola Colors, not neon, xept in the flashing ultraviolet dark of the club.

"Right," pretty good, but he can't lie to me, "You're not a cop, but I know why you're here."

"That right?" he turned away, looked up the alley, "What's that?"

"You're asking questions," I noticed, "Not about the murder, of course, but around it."	

"What do you know about it?" he nodded, took another drag.

I shrug, "not much," not a lie, "More than evryone else, nobody saw him, he never even came in."

"You were here," he noted, "Though."

"You missed the fight," I made conversation, "Last week."

"Yeah?" he seemed interested.

"Yeah," I grinned, "Big Benny," the bouncer, "and hir girlfreind."

"What happened?" a little too curious, about his victim.

"She didn't want to work," I remember, "Thought she could get out of it, go to a party instead, but Benny wouldn't let her, so she quit."

"They were lovers?" he guessed, "Lesbian?"

"Yeah," he wanted her, Big Benny, but now knew he wasn't her type.  Good, he would have to go for me.  Already wasted time, that should have been me last week, not her.  Winter, "My first night."  I pulled my fleece cloak tighter, "He, and Benny had a fight, and I guess she walked out."

"So you knew he was a transexual?" he noted.

"Uh huh," he had the looks, but not the moves, or dress sence.  "You're investigating it?"

"You seem to have an intrest," I didn't try to hide it.

"Yeah," I caught his eyes, "I'm kinda into serial killers, especially the sexually motivated ones."  Oriental, squinty so you can't see them, what's in them.

"Huh," he looked me up, and down, but one of the few who ain't turned on by it, "What do you think?"

He's gay, "Idaknow," from what I saw.  "He seems to like the whole switch thing, pretending to be something you're not and all that."

"You don't do that," he lied.

"Nope," I flicked my smoke off, "I lay it all out there."  He finished too, and was starting to hunch in his coat.  Benny took them, and I noticed the weight in a pocket of his.  A weapon?  Just a cheap single breasted taupe blazer, it matched his "nobody in particular" outfit.  

He usually dresses like a serial killer, trying not to.  Tonite, he looked like a child pornstar, dancing with that guy.  What's his name, he fought me for the dance floor, like the fag he is, and took it back while I was out smoking.

"You like men," I kept up the conversation.  No need to danse when I knew for a fact He wasn't here.  The regulars were used to me, only Molly really watched anymore.

"Yeah," he guessed, "some ovem."  I sat down at one of the tables.  He sat across, and a coctail "waitress" dropped off some drinks.  They ran out of Absynthe, it was a Halloween thing, then while supplies lasted, and I wasn't the only one that drank it.

He had a beer, "Martini?"

I swirled the cherry in the anisette, "Ouzo."

"You're right," he nodded, "he seems to get off on throwing the switch, that's his control."

"You a pshrink?" it would explain certain things, like being able to affect personalities, or he could be an actor, or faux paire sykomimik.

"Cognitive pathologist," he shook his head.

I giggled, "Sounds like a cult," the way he said it.

"It's more of a philosophy," he spread his hands, "A method of thinking."  I can't tell whether he doesn't have an expression, or if I just don't recognise it.  Definitely diffrent.

"How's it work?" I pulled the cherry out by the stem without really thinking about it.

"Well, first you determine the state of mind, then you can extrapolate back, or possibly foreward along a similar line of thought."

"Really?" I spit the knotted stem in the glass, it was truly fascinating.

"Yeah," he nodded, "You know he's gotta be thinking this, so you try to think of the natural course he'd go from there."

Pretty close to the way I do it, "Like Profiling," how I got there.

"I know the profiler who developed it," he shrugged, "But I'm just an amateur."

"So you follow serial cases too," I think he was bragging that he solved some.

"Mostly sexual predators," no, not bragging.  "Pedophiles."

"You were abused," no body language, decent self image, even a little hystrionic about it.

"Yeah," by men, "You ever hear about those sex tourism laws?"

Extremely interesting, "Uh huh?"

"Well, sometimes they come back with children," he explained, "Like from Thailand."

"Oh," he's an ex sex slave.

"Yeah, so I was in some childporn," not even a blink, comfortable about it, "Then I worked as a private detective, but I had all this money from the childporn, so..."

"You kept the money?" sociopath.  I mean, that's pretty fucking cold.

"I got awarded it in court as the victim," he sat back, crossed his legs, turned his head, finally showed something.  "Pretty important precident, actually."  Ok, kinda nerdy, though.

"Anyways, that was, like thirtythree thousand a year for a while, and payed tuition for a criminal justice degree, so I just traced back my case, and brought my fathers to justice."

Billy {MG NS}

I don't know why I just layed out my life story likeat, but hey, she was a good listner, and seemed real intrested.  "What about you?" I wondered.

"Well," she looked it up, "I grew up with my dad, and big sister, and I wasn't mollested, or anything, but dad really looked at us girls, especially when we started growing up, and talked about it a lot."

Truth, lie, lie, truth, truth, and truth.  Real entertaining to watch, she didn't avoid eye contact, or show any other self conciousness, but made a point to look you in the eye when she lied.  

Sex night, at the morning star, the music wasn't up that high, and it wasn't real crouded around.  Molly was dancing with a punk rock Grrl, and her neon candy kid girlfrend.  Interesting couple, the butch sub to the neon lipstick Domme, but a dead end for me any way I approached it.

"White an english name?" I know for a fact it's an alias.

She nodded, "And Jewish."  I tried to confirm it in her face.  The problem is her undeveloped looking features, and complete lack of color masked any of those typical racial markers.  Big round eyes, brows, and lashes only visible by their shadows in the lurid frantic lighting, and the underglow.

Little custer of nose, maybe Keltic/Semitic, pink lips, huge round glowing cheeks.  Practicly naked, not even the belt, and bracelet combo over black underwear, matching pumps.  The body, Idaknow.

"You pedophilic?" Ok, don't stop talking and just stare likeat.

I shrug, "Ageplay," look away, but I'd seen more than enough to be puzzled.  Take a girl, a child, and specificly develop the parts that make her a woman.  "I haven't had sex with a child sence I was one."

She's looking at me, straight in the eyes, and didn't change position since last time I looked.  "You like kids?"  Coquettish, not explicity sexual, but implicit.  The outfit made it graphic, though, the fact that she had her ancle up on the knee, arm propped up, but wide to expose the torso.

"Idaknow," I looked her in the eyes, "I never been around them."  I let her try to see, see her realise something in her's.

"Me neither," I wondered who'd look away first, "They're a pain."  Despite some resemblance, she's at least not like Connie.  Both are blonde, I noticed a yellow undertone to her eyebrows out front.  Not even albino, but an entertaining liar in a place full of them.

All of a sudden, I realised out of all the people I knowed who she reminded me of.  That conniving cunt Connie, the almost mythical female child mollestor.  Blonde, and blue, but Connie grew up, into a woman, while she stayed a little girl, somehow.

Another female sexual sociopath, I was sure of it.  Once is an instance, twice a coincidence, three times a pattern.  There are, of course, female pedophiles, but it's so underreported even some profilers dismiss the idea out of hand.

"Talk to ya later," I got up, and went to the dance floor.  Colin was just showing off now, and I hadto learn this sometime.  

"Hang on," he put his hands on my hips, "You're not built for swinging, do that with your shoulders.  I tried to keep the beat, didn't do anything too advanced, like taking a step.

"There," he set a nice fucking motion, "Same rythm, you know this one right?"

"Yeah," he turned around.  

"We'll work from there," he looked over his shoulder, so I swung mine, put my hand on his hip.

Ashe slunk up around him, turned to run her hand up Molly's tummy.  Looking shocked, her eyebrows went up over her goggles.  Both moving in time, her white nails slipped up the side of her face.

One other female sexual sociopath, like Connie, or that man raper Kenny partnered up with.  'Virginia Ligget', AKA Victoria, 'Tory, Ginny, and hundreds of other aliases, three is enough to see the pattern.  Males channel it into violence, but women are conniving, and affect it through sex.

Amoral, and inethical, they use it instead of a weapon, don't fight, but fuck their victims into submission, emasculate them if male, or chose already imasculate victims, like children.  Liggett chose men, didn't castrate them, but threatened it, actually created a serial rapist of her own with her sexual conditioning.

But Ashe, or whatever her name is, follow the path foreward with the unofficial profile of a personality type not recognised by the psychiactric community.  Scarred, self mutilating from the {VICTIM} cut into her left arm, right handed.

But not that surgical scar, she actually hides it, ashamed, and so healed over I needed the obscured navel to draw attention to it in the lurid lights of the club.  Carved out inside, that had to be what made her.  A childhood uterodectomy, looked like, she can't get pregnant, and therefore can be as slutty as she wants.

The nineties, if she's honest about her age, even the 80s, and 2000s saturated with AIDS, even herpies, or HPV a serious threat to her.  Nihilistic, it would be fitting to be killed by sex, ultimately, and she would understand that.

Instead of morays, a sense of poetic justice, like Connie progressing from childporn, and the Babysitter racket to running her own not for profit prostitot ring, mollesting the children to get them all red cheeked for those damned "For The Children" vidios.

Or Liggett, raped, and humiliated, cross dressing as a child, then attracting stereotypical men to rape, and domineer.  Like the construction worker that eventually got her caught.  He never said a word about it, eventually confessed to attempted rape.

But I saw the tape of her interrogation by Dr. Kenny Jenkins.  The original Cognitive Pathologist, he opened her up, and she eventually bragged about binding him, hands, and genitals to force an erection, raping him in the back of his van, then taking him back to finish the jobsite.

Ashe (GF Dom Saph FF {for FingerFuck})

Idaknow, he's weird.  What if I'm looking for the wrong guy?  I mean, I followed one here, and he struck right on schedule, but nobody saw him.  Like Legerdemain, I know the guy I followed ain't a gay asian looking mexican with a redneck accent.

But what if I got it wrong, the "cogniitive pathology," and picked up a copycat.  That was too much excalation, even for Halloween, and Kat looked like a woman, but couldn't pull off the act.  She left crying, maybe sat down, just got in his car, and stayed vulnerable.

Or, he knew what he had.  A boy playing dressup, the Dominatrix costume, Katoninetails for SM, but not a dominant bone in hir body.  Hold that up ta billy, what I saw him do, and his vulnerability after just having raw gay bondage sex in fronta everbody.

How many serial sex criminals are we taking here, five?  Like the magnum killer, the papers called him "dirty harry," but comeon.  That guy wasn't Clint, but a scared little man hiding behind a big gun.  A midlife crisis fueled by homophobic self loathing, and paranoia.  

Starting to escalate, fucked the last one with the gun instead of making him suck it.  The weight in his jacket, maybe a revolver, but not no .44 mag.  But that was the wrong kind of closet, a barred cell to lock up your inner faggot.  Billy had a glass closet, "lookat me everbody!"

Up there on the dance floor, finally getting a lesson.  Could he be a Thatch?  I didn't see the work, but the news said raped, and tortured to death, didn't release the trans part.  I asked around, he was pre-op, went on a Gender Bender his first night, fucked evrybody, then went to the hospital.  

Benny said she took Viagra for the erectile dysfunction, tried Cialis, but you know how in the commercials they say to seek medical attention if you get one for more than 4 hours?  Well, they put her back on Viagra, anyway.  That gives me some idea of Kat, submissive, but a gender switch.

Her killer picked up on that, but gay, or bi, maybe that didn't set him off.  First time, overkill, maybe he wasn't going for snuff, but overdid it, killed her too quick.  The news let slip that the rape was after she was dead.  Bloody, he cut her, maybe him into a her.  That's a lot of blood, around there, so he's not a medical professional, but amature.  He botched it, and she died.

He's getting confident, comming in, having sex.  Not cured, that's not a one time deal, but he thinks he's de-escalated somehow, back to play.  He chose to be tied up, couldn't trigger with evryone watching, even Benny, and Molly.

I'll show him, took a while for the club to get going tonite, but he payed his dues in full giving it that kick in the nuts.  Now it was my turn.  Molly's not my type, but the way she played music for me, played with me musicly, I guessed she earned it too.

The techno kid was on the tables, the laptop closed down, but I didn't want to get a room.  They're there for our convenience, privacy if we want it, but not mandatory.  Reaching up, the staples in her hair caught on my nails, but I'd replace them.  At the back, I felt the thick twist of her tail, like a cock wrapped in hair, getting thinned, and thinner with a bow on the end.

What if He was ere, watching?  The other night wit Bene', and tonight, playing Lesbian.  Tat would only turn him on more, being male, turning another table.  An escalation not being able to be more brutal, sadistic.

I pulled it loose with my other hand, dropped the ribbon in front of her, and gently led her off by the tail.  There had to be more than a yard of it, she kept up so I didn't pull it.  I stopped, stretched out my arm to lead her around a booth.  Stepping up on the table, I pushed her back gently onto the couch.

I danced for her, the raver setting up a decent grove, but not progressive enough for me.  I wished she were playing, but I guessed she'd need her hands, the plug draped over her like a cybersnake.  I ran my hands up my skirt, thighs with my hips working.

She sat back, smiling, that "ima gonna git some!" grin evrybody gets.  I kick my foot out of my shoe, step down lightly, kicking up my other foot bare, and slip it out in front of me.  She catches it, holds it, and I cover a wobble with a shimmy.

I lift my big toe, put it right between her eyes, and gently lift the goggles.  I take her eyes in mine, hold them, bunching my dress up, and pull it between us in a flash.  She lets go, and I bend after it, dropping over her.  Almost before I see her face, my knees hit the cushions, and I pin her hips with mine.

Her eyes wide, I take her head in my hands, carefully run my fingers back through her braids, and the barbs in them.  My thumbs catch the mirrored globes, and I slip the strap off to slide down her hair.  I kiss her, force my tongue in her mouth, flick it on her teeth to strike hers, watch her eyebrows pop up in surprise.

Grinding into her, the slick vynil plasticky on me, warming, wetting.  "Mrhaw!" I turn, my little nose past her big rushin one, rolling my tongue one her's.  I don't need to control myself, I'm not going to hurt her, kill her, show them who I am.

Just a glimpse, of who she's dealing with, what kind of predator had her, she slips her tongue in, and I bite it.  Not real hard, just a nip, but she snaps it back in.  I grab her shirt, pull her, lifting my leg to turn, almost throw her over on the table.

I can almost stand back, and see it, everbody's watching now.  Maybe I'm gay, after all I been through, maybe I can love, a woman.

Billy {GF Domm Saph Cunn Feti ExVo}

At some point, you're just showing off.  Used to being the center of attention, I upstaged her earlier, and she had to do something.  I turned my chair around, ordered another, and set back.

A lesbian rapist?  She'd led Bach on for more than a week, working herself up like a serial killer.  He was out there, somewhere, probably jerking off to the memory, possibly starting to plan his next one.  Still too early for him to come back, actually in, but it wasn't Friday yet.

Molly didn't kick, and scream, but I wasn't sure about how much she bent the concent rules.  Looking up, Bene' brought her stool in out of the closet, and kept an ear on the door.

Ashe practicly threw her on the table, tail rolling around, and off the edge, pulling straight.  In her pleather underwear, it was shiny in the club lights.  Holding her face, she rolled her studded head back on the hard surface, running her body up her face.

Molly's eyes were wide, then shut as the tiny white hand clamped on her tail, pulling her up into the tight shiny black triangle.  Not rough, enough for anyone to be hurt, but demanding, insistant.  He acted it up, stroking the tail between her legs like a cock.

I blinked, momentarilly distracted by the phallic display.  She had no navel, or looked like it in the lurid light.  A homonculous, she had to have some kind of glandular condition.  Running her hands up, lifting her hair to let it cascade down, she looked like a characature.

Her neck to long, and thin to support her head, half the width of her shoulders.  Each black bulge strapped to her chest almost as large, and disproportionate, she had a child's torso on a woman's hips, grinding into the DJ's face.

She reached up to that vest she always wore, snapped open the flap of a pocket, and pulled out a ziplock.  Ashe plopped down, saw the long skinny plastic baggy packed with among other things, a latex glove, and lube.  Ashe pouted, but Bene' took a step foreward, large fist on hir broad hips.

All an act, part of the show, the Ashley White spectacal, I watched the crowd, getting bored.  Turning my back, I walked up the steps to the dance floor for another lesson.

I thought about Ashe, dressed all princess, but queening up the danse floor.  Yeah, this isn't a game, but she could ruin it, and who do I know to counter a white queen?

Knight

	I checked K3, took them with me anyway.  Still can't be to carefull, or prepaired.  Yeah, I could probly knock his head off bare handed, but what if somebody decides to jump me, recognises me and calls the Cops?
	He don't say it, but crossloads the navigation point to my phone.  I seen drug dealers pick up that trick, if they tappin you, they miss the text, or email, or whatever.  He knew it years before I met him, for all I know, he came up with it.  You know the old school?  He got tenure.
	Anyway, it's in north Oakland, right off the bridge from the peninsula, almost to Berkely.  I ain't superstitios, but it was friday, the 13th.  Another one of those significant datums, even if you don't beleive in it, people out there do, and go nuckin futz, just like a full moon.
	And this was defnitely wacko land, the hookers is trannys, leather, and chains, whip yo ass tied to a bed.  Around the corner, the parkin lot and Billy's SUV.  He flashes his lights, gets out, and I pull up on the drivers sides, like cops on break.
	Now, I know he ain't straight.  He says it's not gay, per se, but he also says there's all diffrent kindsa diffrent.  I don't get how he thinks.  Anyway, it aint Halloween no more, but he's all done up in drag.
	I seen him do it before.  He don't get pleasure from it, it's just one of his tricks.  I never seen him in all black before though, like his hair, and eyes.  
	Ok, it's a dress, with sleeves, and tights.  Even makes his skin look lighter, but it still don't glow in the club lights, like most people.  No, that's makeup, white face, making him look like chinese.  A wig, long, but tied up in braids on the sides.
	I closed my door, felt kinda trapped in by his, and the cars.  It's a defensible position, but I'm not comfortable sharing it with a guy in a dress.
	"Hey Billy," a massive woman held the door for him.  "Who's your freind?"
	"3K," I lifted my sunglasses.
	"Really?" she just held out her hand, and looked at me.  I shook it, but she just stared.  Damn, I wanted to test that grip, maybe wrestle that arm later.  "The 3K."
	"Yeah," I shrugged, and grinned, "Sorry."  A play from Billy's passive agressive style.
	She grinned back, "Great!" and I stepped into complete weirdness.  Like another planet, alien people.  Human bodies, and faces, but not clothes, hair, makeup.
	Doing inhuman things, a man walking bound, but smiling.  His collar chained to a severe lookin bitch, her wrist hanging back.  She had horns, and he had wings, feathers hanging white from rings in his back.   Men, and women, and others, talking, and kissing in evry possible couple, tripple, more.
	No sex out here, but heavy petting.  Glipmses of nudity, obscene graphic displays of affection, abuse, pleasure in it.  I don't belong there, trust anyone, except Young.  Even he fit in a little too good, too much like them, and not human enough in his whensday outfit.
	Camoflage, pretty much the only way he could blend in.  I caught up to him, so I didn't loose him in the crowd.  Friday, the thirteenth, but these are the ones you see evryday, alone, and happy with it, moping, or smoking, or writing, or drawing, or just watching.  Being seen, like gargoyles.
	The music goin all "Mmrouow," but a beet commin up, hiphop, almost familiar.
	
Benedict {TM Fant, Drug, Musi TG Dild Fist}

Mmm, darkmeat.  I'm not much of a mourning person, and it'd been weeks.  All right, two, but I skipped denial, and bargaining, and made record time for acceptance.  And I have needs, the shop could use the publicity of a celebrity visit, much less member, and I could really use a man.

Not a girl with a dick, or a wounded little oriental, much less a conflicted goth chick, no matter how cool.  I needed a change, and this was the opposite, or the closest I could cum next to me.  A real man, I always thought of myself as a damsel in shining armor.  A Knightess, maybe not in distress, or white.

The darkness suits me better anyway, a little tarnish instead of boring old prince fucking charming.  A hero with a heart of iron, a steel cock.  The brown leather coat, stylish, setting off his dark skin, even in the lights.

Following Billy with gracefull power to the danse floor.  Ashe ignoring them, a slave to the musik, {PL#10} "Cannibal Song".  Queening up the danse floor, red underwear, and ribbons, in her hair.  Rocking out to the metelectronik jam, cybergoth, rivet death.  The Ks grovin along, head picking it up with the overlap, another track skillfully beatmatched by the DJ.

Molly {sign}ed to me.

{?} pointing to the danse floor.

I held up {3} fingers, then dropped two to the side, {K}

{!} I LOLled, and turned back to the door.

Murz spelled it out for evryone else.  "H.U.S.T.L.E. Hussler,.."  He hipped, and hopped, and I stepped out for a smoke.  One of my cigars, it was all clear till I pulled the tobbacco out, and packed what made it a "Jewel."  The birchwood tip, somebody showed up with a cig.  {(Tm) Hav A Tampa.}

"Thanks," Members, they knew about the rules, and went in without it.  Instead of putting it out, I got one more look around, and stuck the red tip in my token peice.  The skunky smoke filled my lungs, and I heald it, flicking away the butt.

"Hhhhuh!" I coughed, and felt it spread warmly, the goose bumps going away even in the chill air.

"Cut these eyes, and I will see," I sang to myself.  "Kiss these lying lips for me."  Ashe's, actually.  "Stroke this skin," arms pumping, "and I will kneel."  Stabbing into me, "Brutalize me," jerking it back out, "I will heal!"  In both hands, faster, and stronger than I thought possible.

I tried to hold back, started to, but she could take it.  She looks Fragile{PL#9}, but she's indestructible, unbreakable, I let loose like I hadn't in a long time.  My fingers in her, nails polished, beveled smooth back from the quick.

Scarred, the big one all of the way down her tummy.  From the bottom of the breast bone to the top of her pelvis, she was carved out, hollow inside.  Whatever I could sense missing came out through there.  And her pussy.

Her clit is so small it wouldn't be exposed if it still had a hood.  The scars from the circumcision held it up, peeking out of her fat childish lips.  I vageuly remembered mine being like that, as if my butt came all the way around the front to pee too.

Her arms came down, felt my face, and hair.  The left one had [Victim] cut into it, but the scars were old.  Her dagger, a skelital Gerber river runner {(c) Legendary Blades}  with the spring clip cut, or snapped off.  In her belt, the small of her back, I gave it back to her.

What the fuck, it was a bit of a releif to be perfectly frank.  The way she looks, little white riding hood, she promised not to use it in the club, and didn't even wear the belt the other night.  I guided her in, hand to the small of her back, and felt it, unnatural, and sideways.

An open night, I screen them comming in, but Billy said that fucker might come back, try to get in.  Like hell, I brought my best whip, and 10-10 just in case.  The pistol was in my jacket, but I hoped Billy's amateur profile was right.

Anyway, I should have known she could take it from that.  I finger fucked her, hard, hard as I could, but she had callouses inside.  Tough, not even tight on three fingers, I had to work for four.  Her little point, hard as a diamond against the ball of her thumb.

Now, I don't got little girly hands, but after a while, I could run my thumb down to my fingertips, bunched inside her, and slowly slipped it in.  Wrapping around it, I twisted my wrist, curled slowly into while she tried to breathe.

I could feel her sigh it out, the last shallow breath, and she arched to take another one.  So small, but cavenous inside, I could almost feel her hips around me, my hand.  Not really a Fist, I'll spare you the inside secrets, what it feels like when she cums around you.

But now the only mystery is who took Molly's goggles.  I asked Klaus, and he denied it, convincingly.  Her fanboy, he had to know he wasn't her type, wished he'd thought to take the souvenir, but they just dissapeared after that scene with Ashe.

Maybe she took them, as a trophy?

I was interrupted anyway, by the arrival, of Billy, and his celebrity date.  I didn't even know he was gay, 3K, I mean.  Not up on the Gangsta/Hiphop scene, but good for business.
	
CMB {FfM, NS, PLAY}

I put on Ministry, "Cannibal Song", for her to dance to.  I can't have, or be had by her, I can at least intercourse with her this way, through musik.  My medium, it's typicly neither rare, nor well done, but I strive to transcend that.

I remember her fingers in me, gloved, but shivered a little.  Why did I feel so wrong about it, dark, and dirty, creeped out.  It's what I wanted, right?  Craved for, needed, but it took something out of me, made me feel hollow inside, like her.

I thought I loved her, or wanted to, but now that I'd felt her, it felt like hate.

Then we were interrupted by an arrival.  Famous, but not for music, he looked familiar.  Bene' signed {3K}, right, the GangStar, almost a hero, rumor was he was working on a debut record.

"Yeh!" I could hear him over the music,  Keith K. Knight, great name, pleased with his approval.  Finally, someone Else to take over the dancefloor.  She can't hiphop, but damn, he sure can.

When he had room, he threw it out, like a kata in fast foreward, combative like the heavy beat.  I mixed it up, grabbed a sample disk to throw in, scratched, and pitch shifted while he shifted the pit.  

A digital record, vinyl/acrylate, the opticly transparent substrate on my fingers, black subsurface read by a laser needle, the technology comming around for the ends to touch, full circle.  Albums, Laser Disc, CDVD, then back around to records again.  Slow enough to guide with my hands.

Rockin out with my cock out, I put down my goggles so I wouldn't loose them.  Pulled back to strap the phones to my head.

"H.U.S.T.L.E," Murz spelled it out, "Hustler," slash back, "Hustle\Hustler."  synkopate the beat a quarter stanza, a couple distorted elecrtic guitar chugs.  DNB tribal, cutting the base from the original track, but keeping the rythm.  Patching over to the keyboard, 3 iterations, mentally composing the fugue.

He spun, dropped, twisting, and kicking out his legs.  Spinning tighter, he stood up on his head, and jumped.  Keeping the beat, he came down 3/4 turns on his hat, jumped again, and came down with it backwards, then another hip hop to bring it around the other side.

Break beat, "H."////, "E." minor, "/L/L" no o, "/Huss\Huss\Hussler."  Remixed to EBM, the words just notes, arpegio in Husses, pitch shifted on the claviature.  Qwerty keyboard in the other hand, pedals, stool kicked back from me, kicking and stomping between selecting effects.  Channeling my anscestor, improvising in 6 part counterpoint.

Ducking, he rolled onto his shoulders, back, slowing to a stop, and popping back to his feet.  His tongue lolled like Jordan dunking, and his head rolled around on his neck.  "Fuck, YEH!" I slowwed the track, dropped the fader, and pitch, let the lights cool down.

Turning to my laptop, I hit the playlist, the lights automaticly switching to reactive.  "Dolby dol bedolby do," a version of "No shuffle" doppled in, with the live crowd sounds excized, and cleaned up.

"Place this is the place the only,.." {PL#242} I hopped down from the stand, and edited the rest of the track from my mind.

"That was fantastic!" he was there with that creepy Asian guy, in instagoth {(c) Sycospark} drag.  I didn't know he was gay, K, I mean.  He hit on Ash once, looked like it was working, first time for everything, but then he ran.

"Thanks," he held out his hand.

"You got a DJ?" he was rumored to be working on an album.

"Not's good as you," his Gangsta dialect of Anglische was obviously a seccond language.  He kept dropping cultured words, pronunciations, but we talked.

Billy {NS}

I finally got to meet the DJ, "Chrome Molly Bach."  Groupie enfatuated with Keith, I got a good look at her.  What Bene' calls a "Rivethead", she looked cyberpunk, right out of Neuromancer.

Pulling back her hand from a shake, her nails are manicured to parabolic points, like a gothic arch, but polished shiny smooth, like stainless steel, double edged scalpel blades.  Like her shades, mirror surface, and curved into her orbitals like insets, asside from the straps.

Teh Razor girl, or some variation on her, plane landing headphones hung around her neck, the cable plaited with her hair, blending into neon extensions to the plug dangling nearly to the floor.  A part of her, or the closest thing, to a head jack.

Kinda plain, actually, homely even under all that chromatic costume.  Germanic, definitely, and hiding her inner self image under the persona, another Mask.  Practicly the opposite of Ashe, feirce looking, but an inner child, lonely, and crying for attention.

"Wanna dance?" she got on the floor.  Something industrial, German?  They kept saying "God Is Tod?" over and over.  {PL#*}  She kept up with Knight, good enough to upstage Ash.  

Now where did she get off to?  My belweather, sure to attract him, but. Sure enough, she dissapeared, probably ran out of embarassment.  I looked around for her, and him, the serial killer I was supposed to be looking for.

It occured to me that though he'd only struck once, I could deduce enough to predict.  Close enough to a completed amateur profile.  Black hair, probably died, and clothes, he'd be destinctive enough to blend in to this croud of weirdos.  Everyone screaming for attention, someone who wasn't, like me last weekend was obvious.

No, he'd be crying for attention, but just softly enough to be ignored.  Black on black to minimize the UV reaction, blend into the shadows, the throngs of Goths, and black leather clad fetishists.  And he'd be here tonight, friday the thirteenth, just like Halloween.

His trigger, he'd fantasized about it, but held back until the time was right, like an astrologer waiting for a sign in the stars.  Some schitzotypal magic ideation, tarot, a wiccan, or pagan.  Pentacles, ankhs, he picked his crowd too well.

Surrounded by it on a night like this, he was just plain invisible.  But he had to be here.

"Yaiiii!" a scream, by the back rooms, the crowd sweeping back like a burning theater.  Ashe, staggering out, no longer white, stripped bare, drenched in red.  She collapses theatricly as I run to her, past her to the door.

Lit up in lurid crimson, The Bower, he's arched back over the chaise, stained dark with blood.  I get close enough to see his legs without stepping in the flat pool, spread towards me, the wreck of wounds between them.  His arms up, over his head, unmoving, bled out.

I check his pulse as an afterthought.  Between the femorals, omentum, and urogenital vascular bed, it should have been arterial spurts, like the spatters shiny on the floor.  A black leather belt, cut open, like the cuffs linked to it.

Don't let her escape, I stopped, turned to look out to the club.  "Ashe..," already on her feet, I went out, and slamed the door.  "Noone goes in that room."  She turned on me, Bene blocking the exit, Molly crouched on the stage, Knight standing over her with his long gun out.  "and noone leaves."

Knight

A'ite, I aint never goin out with Billy ever again.  First, evrybody thought I was his boyfreind, and haaaell nah.  I mean, he's cool, and even kinda pretty, but I like bitches, real ones with titties and shit.  Then, I meet one who just might could kick my ass, and I still don't know how to deal wit dat.

Whacko land is right, the croud got to me, and that crazy cyborg DJ, and then, justa drop a nice cherry on top of the evening, we didn't catch the guy we was there for.  It was like a show with evrything, but Yul Brynner.

Billy showed me that movie, "Chess!" a fucking musical.  He probably liked that show tune I never knew was from it, "One night in Bangkok," bein Thai, and all.  Still, I like the Knight symbol, it's my damn tag, in black, with 3 on one side, and a K.

Usually, the knight takes a Queen, because she can't move like me, so she can't take you on the way in.  But I was, like, surrounded by three queens, ChroMoly pinning me on the side, Benedict threatening me clear across the board, and Ash.  I didn't know what she was, so it's like a pawn moved one space foreward, and turned into a queen.

Checkmate.  Misdirection, I got all distracted by the queen, and lost both kings.  I guess Young was my king, he lost, and Pall was the other side, the metaphor breaks down at some point.

DJ CMB {F Play}
	
	"Ach, fik!"..{PL#13}  Blut!

Dr. Young {MG, NS, Nude, ME.}

"And noone leave the building," I closed the door behind us as soon as I saw the exit was blocked.  The locker room, stalls in back, but no doors, open enough for an orgy out here, on the benches, a wall of real lockers behind me.

"I'ma Dr." I had to keep my mask on, "Are you hurt?"  Especially now that I had seen her's off.

"I don't know?" back on, she Acted the perfect victim, so well I suspect she even beleived it.  Lied straight in my eyes, then looked down at herself.  I took her to another room, yes, her, the first thing I checked.

I looked over every square inch of skin, not a mark on her, or a fresh one anyway.  Bone white, but not porceline smooth, she had scars.  The largest was the most interesting.

From pubis to sternum, it had faded almost invisible under all that blood.  What caught my eye was her navel, or lack of one.  That brought my attention to why, close enough scrutiny to trace the unnatural line.  Surgicly straight, and precise, it almost seemed to belong there, marking her as inhuman.

Two fairly fresh cuts on her arm, an X, crossing out [Victim] in old scars.  No hesitation marks, the cuts were shallow, but deliberate, and precisely straight.

"Did he rape you?" I knelt down, more scars, and callouses, none of them fresh.  She stood with her legs open, but there's a gap between them, so skinny on her wide hips.

"Yes," no.  No lascerations, inflamation, or dilation.  Scar tissue, at the edge of what was missing.  Her inner labia, and clitoral hood, they'd been excised, again surgicly, she couldn't have done that herself.

It made her look more childlike, just the pubis mons, tapering between her legs, and splitting into thick puffy folds.  Not a hair on her, and slick with blood.

I smelled something overpowering it.  Lubrication, arousal, feminine musk.  It turned her on, but she killed him before he could get into her, even undressed.  Puffy nipples, can't tell the color, but not erect.  Breath rate calming down, but no longer turned on.

Still not enough, he took her in there, and I have a feeling he'll match.  The semen found in the wound inside the pelvis of his first victim.  Even if it went to trial, she'd have almost unbeatable self defence.  "Would you consent to a rape-kit?"

"What's that?" she shook her head, eyes locked to mine.  Only I could see that she was lying, knew damn well what I was talking about.

"Forensic tests," I went with the normal speil.  As medical examiner, I've had to work several sexual assault cases.  I also just happened to have one in my bag, without the computer in there, I even fit in my gun, and a speedloader of the "special" loads.

"Would you have to touch me?" I hadn't yet, but I wasn't fooled.  She went for the self protective posture too late, would have come out with it instead of the splashy show she just put on.  

She was just raped, and killed her attacker, right?  Feared for her life?  Then why did she run out, naked, striped with blood to a crowded sex club?

I dropped my mask, "where's the knife?" looked her in the eyes, and dared her to lie to me.  

She looked me in the eyes, "I don't know," Why would she hide the knife?

"There's a shower," I pointed back, not even a window to escape.  Furnished, and even plumbed like someplace else, it was framed in solid painted cinderblock.  I went out the only exit, to the club.  

The lights were up, except the party effects, and the music stopped.  Keith was by the door with Benedict, noone was getting out.  I'll play your game, little monster, but my way.

Benedict {F NS}

I hung up on Emergency Assistance as soon as they told me police were en route.	Not the publicity I need, the best kind of luck had Dr. Young, a bonafide medical examiner there.  I was also thankfull for K, for crowd control.  Most of the members respect me, and my wishes in My club, but they had guests, and it wasn't your average night.

As pervy as they are, they aren't any more immune to being witness to real rape, murder, and death.  Neither am I, and I bet I wasn't 100% just in shock.  Knight had seen death, caused it, and lost comrades in battle.  He looked a little rattled, but calmer, and more controlled than anyone else.

Even Billy looked pale, and sick when he came out.  Not a drop of blood on even the white soles of his chuck taylors, still as clean as he arrived, despite having just stepped into a bloodbath.  "All right!"

Everyone payed attention.  "This is now a crime scene, and you are all witnesses."  He pulled his other wallet out of his oversized purse, and flipped it open.  "I am the Coroner for Alameda County, and as the only official here, I must ask that noone leaves, untill the police come to secure these premises.

Some patrons were out smoking, and escaped, but only a handfull.  "I am placing Ashley White Under Citizen's Arrest Untill I Can Turn Her Over."

Sirens, finally, comming around to the parking lot side.  "Yeh," 3K ran up, "I can't be here."  Arright, I let him go, hoped I'd see him again.

Billy hauled her up to me, still holding the door.  "I saw that."

"You can't arrest me!" Ashe, wearing towels jerked her hand away.  Hair wet, it looked kind of blondish, and the towels were, of course, white.

"You killed some damn body." Not much taller than her, "Ask the cops when they get here, they can't make a judgement on the level of 'Justifiable Homocide' on the grounds of 'Self Defence'," he pulled it off, "You're going to jail, and the Magistrate'll haveta decide it."

"That right?" she stared him right in the eyes, put up her hands together, "Anybody got cuffs!?"

"Hang on!" I put up my hand, "They'll bring some!"

I had all the coats, so I gave her the cloak.  Billy pulled a snubnosed revolver out of his bag as soon as I gave it to him.  It was snowing outside when we handed her over, I led police to the crime scene, and even opened the door for them.

First good lookat it, that fucker was dead in front of me.  All I could really see was his legs, and blood.  I seen blood before, that carpet was expensive, and dark with it.  "Thanks, Ashe."  I decided to keep that patch.

"You'll have to stand back, S," he blinked, hand stopped right in front of my chest.

"Maam."  Touch me and never jerk off with that hand the same way again.

Dr. Young {M NS}

I followed them to the station, both officially, and as a witness while the rest were questioned en mass at the club.  Noone saw anything, anyway, like a Legerdemain assassination.

I had more than enough data for a complete profile, if I could put them all together.  "It is by will alone that I put my mind in motion..." {(c) Frank Herber/Dino de Laurentis.}

She Shewed {- Howard Phillips Lovecraft} her true face, a killer.  No torture, no fight, a perfectly planned execution.  "Uh," I asked noone in particular, "You got a computer I can use to type up my report?"

"Yeah," someone showed me an empty office.  Or not being used, anyway, it had a desk, chair, computer, but not much else.  Now, I kin type about as fast as I think, and worked up a sanitized witness report.  No telling what she'd say, but fortunately, I hadn't actually seen it.

It also had network access, internet, and police with my login.  Medical files, case search for similar rape/murders, narrow the feild with specificity.  Stabbing between the legs, male victim, past this cluster to older incidents.

Twice, possibly coincidence.  I worked up the pattern.

Amanda Hunt {FM Rape, Snuf, Lies}

	"State your name for the record."  A uniformed officer, not a detective.
	"Ashley White."  
	"Can you recount what happened last night, November Thirteenth, two thousand five?"
	He said his name was Pall, "P.a.l.l."  Tall, goth, I never saw him at the club before.  Black hair, but blonde roots growing out, to match his eyebrows.  Blue eyes, darker than mine.
	He brought me a drink, struck up a conversation, and I must admit, I was attracted to him.  Ima Goth, scary is sexy to us, and the 'star is that kind of place.
	Anyway, he took me back to a private room.  They are for sex, but I never seen money, or drugs exchanged, we made no illegal transactions there.  Benedict runs security, and I think she was a military cop.  She has a Navy, or Marine tattoo with [M,P] on the left bicep.
	"So you concented?"
	At first, he was kinda hot in his creepy way, but he hurt me, I mean really hurt me.
	"So you're not a sado-masochist?"
	No, I like to be tied up, maybe choked a little, but I don't like pain.  And besides, I could tell right away he is a real Sadist, he needed real pain to get hard, and not the fake play kind.  He pulled out a knife, cut my clothes off, even my bracelets, and belt.
	I don't know why he clipped them together, I think it had some symbolic meaning.  I read about serial killers, a lot, and they do stuff like that, right?  Anyway, he threatened to cut my nipples off, just to hear me scream.
	I screamed, "No," and "please don't," and "Stop," and rape and fire, and all that stuff, but the music was so loud, and I think those rooms are soundproof, or at least that one.
	Is he the guy I'm thinking about?  The rape killer from Halloween?  The rumor I heard is he got his first victim there, at the Mourning Star, right?  Anyways, he dropped the belt, and I grabbed it.  Tough leather, I thought if I wrapped the knife in it, he couldn't cut it, and me, and it kinda worked.
	I got the knife away with it, anyway, and we fought over it, but he stood up, and I got it, and stabbed him the only place I could reach.  I just kept on stabbing till he stopped fighting, and fell over.  Then I went out to the club to get help.
	I know Billy from the club, he's some kind of doctor, and he made sure I wasn't hurt, and offered me a rape kit, but I felt too violated allready, and he didn't rape me, so I waived that, and he let me go take a shower.

Knight {MM Pimp DoMm}

"Fuck, man!" I saw red, and blue, flashing before I hit the corner.  Lightin up behind me, gat gat tight, 3/4 trench dark in the night.

Rythm of the streets, man, kicks trippin time.  Sirens echo, but not my crime.  Seen more then enough, this neighborhood, rough.  "Cheeze," want some wine, and crackers wit dat?  Fuckit, drop it, skip back a cut.

Chainink sings, and I almost land in it.  Sex, I think, or whatever.
Hookers, man, all kinda wrong, and the pimps is the kinda come on strong.  I mean, "Hey," pink suit, purple hat, cock in a zute, "What's going on back there?"

Knife, backhanded away, then run my open hand up his arm.  "Klickt," two hammers, nice.  By the pizza collar, standing back like an archer, 19" of double barreled 12 gauge to stare at.  "Even if ya stick me," I glance back, "I won't bleed out before tagging this alley wit yo ass."  He puts it away.  "None of your business," I chuck my head back, "You feel me?"

"Uh," looking up, "Yeah," not back down again, closing.

"GoodKnight," gone.

Aite, Knight, it ain't "Midnight," and I ain't Ice T.  Evil E ain't with me, and I can't GTA.  I ain't jacking my way outta this anyway.  {(C) OG: Original Gangsta.}

He's probably got freinds that ain't gimp hookers, submissives for guys to abuse, male, female, and other.  I gotta get outta this hood.  I'm probably safe enough with, what, 5 more shells?  Seven aut to do it if I don't pick the wrong fight.

"Need a ride?" who the fuck?

"Ash" {F NS}

	They bought it.  The DA even came, officially decided not to charge me on Self Defence grounds.  I thanked them sincerely, and Dr Billy offered me a ride.  Hell, saved me cab fare, and I didn't have nothing.  My purse was back at the club with my cloak, and even my blade was still in Evidence.  They had to loan me clothes.
	Cops, it's not like they're stupid, I'm just that good.  Lotsa practice.  Billy, now, there was some kinda something else.  I didn't trust him, but that's just not something I do, especially men.  He fooled me once, shame on him, but not again.
	He played subbie really good, the part, like an actor, but not the game.  He's not submissive, at all, I found, but a good mimic.  He dropped the act, as soon as he got me in the car.
	"Can you take me home?" I blinked tears back in my eyes.
	"Sure thing," he drove off, "Amanda."
	"My names Ashley," I corrected him, didn't shew the chill that frose my heart despite the [SFPD] sweats.  The smallest set they could find, they still hung on me like a tent.
	"We both know that's an alias," telling me he knew, "How many have you had?"
	"I don't know," I shrugged, "Just nicknames."
	"My favorite is 'Amanda Hunt," he chuckled, "Great pun, 'A Man Ta Hunt'."
	"I don't know who your talking about," I turned away, but he did.
	"Quite a distinctive M.O. you got there," he didn't ask where I lived.
	"Where are you taking me?" towards Alameda?
	"Somewhere we can talk," he smiled, "In private."  He shifted, pulled out a shiny snubnose, and set it in his lap.
	"Who are you?" no way I could get across the seats and grab it before he shot me.
	"We're talking about you now," he said, "You like to stab up between the legs."
	Oh, I realised to late, that kind of doctor.  "Yeah," I admitted, "So what?"
	"So," he watched the road, but kept me in the corner of his eyes, the rearview mirror, "That's what we call a signature.  In Raliegh, the NCSU campus, that was the first time, and two others not counting last night.  You used the name Amanda Hunt then, the first time you were arrested, but got away the seccond, and third time."
	"You did your research," I had to give him that, "So why aren't we having this conversation back there?" with the cops.
	"To answer that," he pulled onto the freeway, "Let me tell you my story." {\Yuen Ng}
	
Billy {fM Rape Snuf Sade}

She told me what really happened, or I got it out of her.  The best way, I told her who I was, what I am, and how I got that way.  Leaving the city, all my stuff, my job, but I got savings, and enough in back to live on the road as long as neccisary.

She listened, well, interested.  The child porn, abuse, sex underground she never expected.  Familliar with the subculture, semisecret society we found each other in, "Almost legal even!"

She didn't act, sat next to me with the mask thrown away, laid bare in the baggy police sweats.  Even unintentionally portraying the exact opposite of her nature, inheirently criminal, earned by playing the victim.

I think she lies so well by beleiving it, convincing herself possibly well enough to skew a polygraph at least to inconclusive.  Not a pathological reflex liar, but with the sincerity of someone with control over her delusions.

The theoreticly impossible, but mythical female sociopath.  So moraly crippled that humans are like animals, prey to be taken from, and abused.  Like Connie, and Victoria Liggett, they use sex, instead of violence, but it's a parallel pathology.

She doesn't even fight, she kills, using sex to incapacitate the victims, hold them by their genital, the important one, inside her.  The knife, in evidence now, but I seen it.  Double edge, one serrated, and a skelital handle.  (Gerber) river runner?  (Legendary Blades).  She carried it in, inside the belt she made herself, in the small of her back.

She just waited, spotted him even before I arrived from the way he watched her.  She said you could tell he was trying to entrance her with his eyes, like dracula, willing her to him.  Only when the time was right, she went after him.

Bragging by then, he clipped her hands behind her, forced her back on the chaise, held her with her weight.  He tore her dress off, and stopped with his hands on the front clasp of her bra.  Padded, a silicone "Water bra," she has small perky conical breasts pinched by her overdeveloped pink nipples.

In the station, she stood stark naked, clean, and talked to the female guard while waiting for the loaners, and putting them on.  None of that distracted him, Pall.  I saw him, and damnit, my eyes slipped over him without much thought.

A poser, blonde roots showing under the flat black die, split almost to them, long, but headbanger ratty.  Trenchcoat in Columbine Mafia black, tee shirt, and jeans to match.  Dressed teenage angsterbater, he had to be pushing thirty.

She picked up on him from across the room, claimed to have had that magical romantic feeling.  Knowing he would be there, looking at her.  All eyes were on 3K, upstaging her, the timing was perfect.  She went to him, let him stand over her, conciously more aware of what was going on in his mind.

I agreed with her, he would think he called her somehow.  Stood back watching her, and noticed him.  Certainly not how attractive he is, not enough attention to have that kind of appearence.  No, she saw how much her wanted her.

 To take him, past the bondage rooms to the nice one.  Already red, burgundy carpets, Crayola (Tm) red wall, and ceiling, chrimson furniture, including the chaise in the center of the room.  Hand up to the small of his back, pushing as forcably as possible.

Massive proportionate to her, he lets her close the door, come to him, take his wrists.  Running his hands up her body, she moves towards her face, looking up at him.  He grabs her, neck, and shoulders, swithces to "Thatch."

"Thatch?" I shook my head.

 "It's from a book, 'Hard Wired',"{(c)Walter Jon Williams}"I think you'd like it."  Anyway, he forced her down, back on the wrought iron chair with an extended seat. Grabbing her wrists, twisting them behind her, then had to get up, roll her over.  He pinned her with his legs, and his weight.
 
He used both arms to pin hers, one by one, clipping them to the quick links, and locking them.  Just like she planned, too conveniet to pass up, in position to spring her trap.  Turning her over again, she acted like she still thought it was a game, fun.  He tore her dress off, fumbled with the bra.

 He was distracted, by her scar.  Lifting up her sweatshirt, she showed me.  On her tummy, it was a pink line.  Spread, and faded from growth, I didn't turn on the light.  A sodium vapor lamp flashed overhead, and she pulled it off.

I looked at the road, rearview.  The closest people were distant pairs of lights, red, and white respectively.  I just tried to keep it on the road.  I looked at her, knew better than to try to touch.  Fresh from the police station, and as good as stripped searched, she could still be armed.

"Anyway," she cut herself free, didn't cut herself, which is amazing of itself.  By then, he had her underwear off, and was exploring her scars.  She didn't show me, and I was thankfull that the one time I did see it, it was under a partially obscuring coat of blood.

Scar tissue, it actually delayed his sadistic side.  Fascinated, he was turned on enough from the mutilation, reading the pain recorded in a language of scars.  She screamed, knowing it was what he wanted, not even letting him ask her too, make her.

He closed his eyes, felt her, smiled.  Then the belt snapped.  He never had the knife, she used the belt to tangle his wrists.  Terrified, he got up, tried to get back, but she stabbed upward.  The serrations caught in his flesh, and pelvis.

He fell, the wet steel handle slipping free, and she got out of the way.  Behind him, she grabbed the knife in both hands, and fucked him to death.  Doggy style, it must have left wounds very similar to the ones he left in "Kat."  Then she cut off the wrist cuffs, threw them on the body, and went out to make her entrance.
	 
Before that, she was with another serial.  Here, that I didn't know about, one of his bodies passed over my table, and I made much the same findings.  A teenage girl, she was emaciatingly thin, shaved clean below the lashes, starved to death.

The yeasty smell pervaded the autopsy room, not infection, but ketosis, from being starved, almost like living putrefaction.  Multiple track marks, injection wounds in both arms, tox came back heroin, and her ID.  A runaway, from a Bay area suburb, there were signs of repeated sexual activity, but not rape.

He kidnapped her, just like "Mandy," for short.  Kept them for days, shaved, and starved them.  Fed on semen, he made them eat it, raped them, and addicted them to heroin to keep them controllable.  He only shot up Mandy twice, though, before she killed him.

She probably made a knife, I didn't ask too many questions, and skipped past them to "Before that."  Before that, she tracked Pall to N California.  Apparently having more experience than I'd given him credit for, he left bodies, but jumped jurisdictions.

Hithertoo unconnected, he evolved to his BDSM tableturning MO from rape fantasy, and occasional attacks of opportunity.  He didn't kill before Kat, but the sex rage caused an unexpected jump in escalation.  He didn't use, or carry anything, paraphenalia like tools, or a rapekit.

Clever how she used it, turned around to what you need for it.  A self taught pathologist, she knows rape better than I ever will, and I have more experience than most.  She knows rapists.

This one, Pall raped a prostitute, a call girl in Vegas.  A domme speialist, like Gale, from Old Town {(C) Frank Miller}, he turned the tables on her, raped, and tortured her with her own equipment.  Before that was a teenager in Phoenix.  A high school student, misfit, and loner, he actually seduced her, somewhat.

Much closer {PL#NiNe} to SM play, she thought of herself as a Dom, so he at least played submissive.  She dominated him, mostly verbal abuse until he snapped, forced her down, and raped her.  If this wasn't his origin crime, it was close.

Always behind, she anticipated his move to the Bay Area, a metro area reknowned for it's liberal sexuality.  Rapidly evolving, acellerating as well as escalating, the first crimes were at least a year apart.  The first, Mandy knew of, was on halloween, the seccond a May Eve, or Beltain, the third a friday the thirteenth.

Pagan, wiccan she thinks, he cycles through his natural rythm, but times it for "Significant" dates, times in the pagan calanders.  A poser in everthing, he lacks creativity, there's no art to it.  Now, these ain't my opinions here, but I can understand how she thinks.

She picked up on my backwards thought process before I remember referrancing it.  A very good reader, using her empathy, or intuition, something male sociopaths completely lack.

Bene {MT}

What the hell, I closed shop as soon as the cops finished interviewing the witnesses, and evrybody left.  One other car in the lot, I got in my Jeep, and drove around the building.

You kinda got to spiral in, and out of there, out the door, around to the lot, then around the building to the other end of the alley.  Kinda nice, and defensive, I don't got to kick out prostitutes, and john that wander back too often.

"Kching!" I stopped, saw someone fleeing through the night.

"Knight," in distress, sawedoff swinging down as he stood from his crouch, and the window came down.  "NEED A RIDE?" I yelled, and he looked happy to run up to my truck.

"Les go," he hit the seat, and slammed the door at the same time.

"Djou shoot someone?" shotgun, between the seats, murder weapon.

"Nah," he shook his head, "Din't haveta, but din't make no frinds neither."  Fresh off the streets, he degenerated to talking likeat.

I didn't speed, but got out of there quickly.  If he disturbed the neighbors, well, I heard rumors.

"Wher do you live?" I got out of the district, alleys, and former warehouses, some of them changed to temporary whorehouses.

"East Oakland," he pointed towards the tollway, "Near the Alameda Tunnel."  I headded that way.  "What happened back there?"

"Far's I can tell, we had a serial killer stalking th club, and that white dancer chick killed him."

"You don't look too pissed off." he noticed.

"He also killed my," I looked away, out the window, "Lover, Kat."

"Ah, so there's some revenge dere?" how long's he been hanging out with Dr. Young?

"Yeah, well." not much to say, "He's lucky I didn't get him."  I could've taken some time off, days.

"Yeh," he grunted, "You all into that whip me beat me shit, aintcha?"  I gotta admit, the streetmouth gets a little annoying.  

I swallowed it, "I've been in the scene to long," jaded, "What I wouldn't give for a more normal relationship."

"More equal?" he guessed, from his point of view.

"Yeah," I guess, "different, but not better, or lesser, apples, and oranges."

"You're a bishop," he figured, "Benedict."

I laughed, "chess?" obviously.

"Yeah," he shrugged, relaxed now, the gun was tucked away, somewhere.  "On the board, a Bishop's worth the same as a Knight," not just a name, a symbol, "just different, complimetary."

There, talking like an educated young man, not too young, I guessed.  Real good at concealing that thing, on my side, I think, but I can't see anything but coat.

I caught his eyes in the rearview, not looking at mine, but across, down at my body.  He did something with his thick lips, like a pucker, but meaning more like a shrug.  His hat, and shades gone, along with his snap pants, his eyebrow slowly went up over a leer.

Knight {MT =}

Aite, she was talkin relationship, but I got stuff to do, down here, and in Hollywood.  I didn't say nothin, but she was lookin damn fine.  Idanah, I been with bitches, little hoes, groupies, but this wus a man's woman, a Bishop for a Knight.

Usually, they cancel each other out, but she's dark, like me, always on the black squares.  Paired, we're powerfull, can take a queen, or king without further support.  I usually sacrifice the bishops, cover her to sweep in so I can keep both Knights, but again, it's just a metaphor for the real game.

Still, a good couple, if you look at it from outside.  Two kinds of power, and she can save me sometimes.  Not a damsel in distress, she don't need rescued, and can hold her own.  I seen her gun, a Bren 10, like Miami Vice.  10 shots of 10mm, like .41 for automatics, real nice peice.

Aight, she's big like that, can handle the kick, but I sling around 12 gauge one handed anyway.  Like I said, complimentry.  And she's all hot for me, I can tell with white chicks.  Light skinned anyway, not like pink white.

Kinda pretty, cept that nose, and the way it makes her whole face crooket.  Looked kida small in her big hair, and manly size.  Close, I could smell her breath, cigar on it.  I expected stubble, or some kind of mustach, roughness from shaving, but she soesn't have no hair on her face.  Her lips are soft, and warm, but she's not all gentle about it.

Now I'm not gay, not even a little, but she's not a man, aight?  Just a big woman, I been wit fat ones, so why not muscle?.  Powerfull arms, at
least as strong as me, but feeling like a woman, rubbing my chest, my bicep.  Yeah, real hot, and not like nobody else.

No bra, flat titties on a chest as thick with muscle as mine.  Can't feel no bone with it, but rough stubble on top of her shirt.  Pulling it up to reach under, up her rippling tummy, ribs, titties soft on her har flat chest.  

Damn she can kiss, strong, but not forcing nothing, playing.  Her hands too, big, and gentle, a little rough, pulling open my belt, and zipping down my jeans.  "Oohh!" she looks down, grinning.  Little K stickin out her fist.  Aight, maybe not that little, I never got no complaints it was too small.

"Nice!" she must've got the rubber from somewhere.

[Another "Dirty Harry" Slaying:

	Police, and even FBI Profilers are baffled as the first serial killer in the cluster of bizarre sex crimes unfolds.  One anonymous source, close to the case says this:
	"In addition to the Sex Slayer, {see: 2nd Sex Slaying! 1A} Halloween, and last night, we had another killing with a magnum revolver on Alameda Island.  This time, he de-escalated to a .357, snubnose for concealment, we beleive.  It may also sybmolise impotence, which almost certainly was triggered by his core internalised homophobia."
	He went on, at lenth to explain how his paranoia, and homophobia must force him to kill [homosexuals] who he blames for his homoerotic fantasies.  His randomness, and quick evolution has managed to stay ahead of the investigation.
	As last time, he kept the signature of eroticly raping his victim, again sodomizing him before pulling the trigger.  Instead of a gay bar, the victim was apparently picked up at the infamous Morning Star, and again driven to an undesclosed rural site.
	For further crime news, see our artical on the Gang Wars below.  Have they gone Cold, or become twisted as the sex gangs become more brazen?
	
	If you have any information about any of these crimes, or feedback on our new daily Crime section, please contact us at <http://www.SFTribune.com/TrueCrime/>]
