Black Rose (15 page)

Black Rose

I’m sitting in nothing but blue jeans, unbuttoned at the top, straddling my woman’s half nude body after I throw her skirt and g-string across the room. I have been tormenting her by tickling her. I continue the torture each time she tells me that she won’t become my new wife.

“I’m an independent woman, Charles. I have no intention of marrying any man.”

“Oh, come on. Marry me,” I tease her, “and then you can’t testify in court about any of my depraved behavior.”

“There isn’t anything criminal about your sexually deviant desires.”

“I can assure you, my little innocent one, there are criminal elements to the man who is fucking you.”

I wrap my fingers around her throat until they are touching at the back of her neck. Her eyes fill with the terror that makes my cock hard and I lean down and whisper, “Get those fucking knees back by your shoulders.”

She can feel her breath being controlled by my large hand that has begun squeezing. I pull at my zipper and tug at my pants while my hand remains around her neck.

I waste no time thrusting my hard cock into her soaked pussy as I stare her down, choking her enough to cut off some air, but not all of it.

“I don’t like ultimatums, refusals, or denials. What I like is control. You and I are headed down to the courthouse to elope tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Dear?”

She quickly nods her head in acquiescence, just to get the air her body is so desperately in need of.

I rise up, glaring into her eyes as I rotate my hips. My simultaneous pumping and grinding give her the friction of a good fucking while, at the same time, my cock is stimulating her clit. When I see she is going to come, I clamp both of my large hands over her throat. I choke her until she almost passes out right as she climaxes.

It is the best fucking orgasm she has ever experienced. The puddle beneath her is evidence of her squirting all over the sheets. The liquid cries out in testimony against her; she is just as kinky as I am.

Agent Turner

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing and groan. Two hours of sleep isn’t sufficient for anyone; this had better be good. My Mistress had me up until all hours of the morning, subjecting me to her special brand of torment that I now can’t seem to live without. She is a drug and I am her willing and eager addict.

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Rene growls from the other side of the bed.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Yeah, David, you just never know with me. Now answer my question.”

“It appears our serial killer has struck again, or tried to.”

I watch as she gets up and throws on the standard black and white the FBI is known for. I just shake my head. She doesn’t permit her property (me) to be out of her sight now. She is very territorial and a real bitch about anything concerning me… and I fucking love it. I have no time to argue with her right now. I am probably safer keeping her close to me anyway, so that I don’t get myself into trouble. The bruises on my backside from last night confirm what I already know—a happy Mistress is a safe and sane sub. If she wants to monitor my every fucking breath, it’s fine by me. The woman is obsessed with me and I am obsessed with her obsession of me. I’m her willing boy toy, connected to her like an enamored, star struck fan.

She walks by me and grabs my cock, squeezing it hard. “Your cock is hard. You’re such a whore for me, aren’t you? You’re such a little slut, boy.”

She squeezes again as her emerald green eyes bore into me, demanding an answer. When I hesitate, her smack is swift and painful as it makes contact with my face. I lower my eyes in contrition and respond, “Yes, Goddess. I’m truly a slut for you. I’m a mere boy toy and one who is not worthy of your attentions.”

“I’m fucking waiting,” she hisses, demanding even more verbal submission from me. She is always pushing my boundaries. It’s one of the reasons I love her like I do. “Yes, Ma’am, I’m a whore and a slut. I’m whatever pleases my Mistress.”

“A whore and a slut for whom?”

Her voice is a sinister whisper tickling my ear.

“Only for you, Mistress.”

“Such a good little fuck toy.” She taunts me, gently rubbing her palm over my cheek—a cheek that still stings and is no doubt sporting a bright red handprint. “Now get your fucking ass in the car and you’re getting your Mistress coffee before we go to the scene of the crime. You may think you’re the boss at work, but we aren’t clocked in yet. You. Will. Do. As. I. Say.”

She hands me her blazer, holding it out and daring me to defy her. I gently take it and walk behind her to help her put it on.

“Such a good boy,” she purrs.

My cock is really hard now. The woman makes me crazy. She has me wrapped around her little finger and I gladly give into her. She has all but moved in and I simply can’t imagine my life without her. She insists on us being monogamous and I couldn’t be happier about her decision. The bruises on my ass cause me to shift in my seat as I get in the car. She eyes me in that way she does when I know she’s trying to read me. The scary thing is that I know she can… like an open book.

“The next time I see you talking to that fucking receptionist that works for you, it won’t be a paddle I’ll be using; it will be a whip and chastity for a week. You stay away from that bitch. You and I both know she is trying to get my big thick cock, which just so happens to be between my slave’s legs.”

She grabs my chin and squeezes, forcing me to look at her.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I still haven’t decided if I’m going to make you fire her. There are plenty of willing slaves out there but I chose you. Are you worthy?”

I hang my head in shame. “No, Mistress, but this unworthy slave would die without you. I need you.”

“Such a good boy,” she says as her hand smooths over my cock and it jumps beneath her touch. She chuckles because she is all too aware my words are true… I need my Mistress. I make a mental note to stay away from the receptionist. I shift in the seat once again as the bruises give another heated reminder of all that my Mistress provides for me, reaffirming my need for her. I make my way out into traffic to hit the drive-thru at the specialty coffee shop she prefers. A feeling of warmth and contentment passes through me as I bask in the glow of being
owned
…

Agent Turner

I chuckle as I listen to the witness talking while an evidence tech scrapes underneath her fingernails. We are looking for epidermis that she could have possibly scratched off of a john who tried to assault her.

“I’m telling you that crazy mother fucker had death in his eyes. He was trying to kill me. After all the kinky shit that he put me through, I should have been paid a hell of a lot more than a hundred dollar bill. Icing me down and wanting me to play dead was one thing, but when he went to choking me, I beat his ass and left him in the hotel room. I got his license plate number too. Why is it it’s always you white boys who are so kinky? Y’all must have some fucked up kink DNA or sumpin’. I don’t mind a little bit of kink but I ain’t gonna have no mother fucker tryin’ to piss on me and playin’ dead is just weird. Damn, I was countin’ on a good night too, maybe even getting some dick from my Daddy, but now it’s all just shot to hell in a hand-basket.”

I reach over, taking the small piece of paper from her hand, and a part of me hopes this is our guy. Too many women have been needlessly killed.

I always work these cases harder because I know if I don’t, many officers will let prostitutes’ cases go cold. I don’t work that way.

Once again, I chuckle as Shanta looks at one of my agents through the large plate glass window. “Who is that fine ass white man? Now for a man that looks that good, I could go straight or kinky, or whateva I needed to go. That is one fine lookin’ mother fuckin’ white boy.”

Well, at least she is entertaining and funny. On two hours sleep, I could use a laugh or two.

I fiddle on my tablet, running the plate number and my eyes fly wide open. I look up and lock eyes with my partner. Our attacker is none other than the good Dr. Anderson. It still isn’t enough to prosecute him though; I need proof he killed those women.

I’ll wait until we’re done with Shanta before I get into the details on the information I’ve found. I have to say, this is one of the few times I have been surprised. I’m truly flabbergasted on this find. Never in a million years would I have thought our killer was someone who has the social standing that Bill Anderson does. The man is a notorious brain surgeon and now it looks like he may be a notorious serial killer as well. Yes, I have to say, I never saw this one coming…