Penelope Bishop and Randy Cody had married not long after the shootout at a meth lab where Penelope had shot the Chief of Police and Randy had shot another police officer. The Chief of Police, other senior police officers and several criminals were involved in a conspiracy and had been defrauding the Police Benevolent Fund as had the Mayor who was later arrested and convicted.

Also, not long after they teamed up, Penelope had shot a man who was attempting to kill Randy when a weapons deal that went bad.

They both had a history of violence and their relationship had started when the Balwyn PD was rotten to the core with corruption, bigotry and misogyny. The Mayor was replaced and Balwyn PD was given a shakeup, the most corrupt police officers fired, not all of them could be though, otherwise there would be hardly any PD left.

The City hired a new Chief of Police from out of town and he went about rebuilding the Police Department. Officers were promoted because of their ability and performance regardless of their race, gender or sexuality. Penelope rose through the ranks and was selected to become a Detective while Randy was happy to stay a beat cop.

Penelope and Randy worked different shifts which interfered with their relationship and after a few years the fire in their marriage had dulled to a smoulder. They still loved each other but reality began to bite. Randolph Cody’s family couldn’t come to grips with him being married to a transgender woman; especially one they knew hadn’t fully transitioned.

Randy wanted kids and Penelope didn’t. Randy proposed using a surrogate mother and Penelope hated the idea of raising a child with Randy’s genes but with none of hers. He proposed adoption and she hated that idea too. The truth was that she had no maternal instinct. She initially became a police officer just to solve her father’s murder but she grew to love being a cop.

They drifted apart, Penelope immersed herself in work and Randy followed his hobbies, riding, hunting, camping; anything to do with the outdoors, in which Penelope had no interest.

Before Randy came along Penelope had been promiscuous and she became so again and started having short-lived affairs and then she started drinking heavily and it became easier to fuck strangers she met in bars. She never knew if Randy knew about her infidelity but they had argued bitterly about her drinking and they were on the verge of separating when Randy got killed on the job.

Penelope used booze to numb the pain. She was a high-functioning alcoholic and she knew it. She was able to control her drinking and was still a very good cop and had risen to the rank of Lieutenant. When her old partner had transferred to the Austin PD she had teamed up with Silvia Bickle.

Silvia had some sympathy for Penelope, she knew about her past, about how she had been hazed and bullied when she first joined the PD. Being an African American lesbian, Silvia knew a bit about prejudice herself. She tolerated Penelope’s drinking and catting around so long as it didn’t interfere with the job; she knew that alkies had to reach rock bottom before they could recover.

Penelope Bishop woke up on the second morning of the Rhonda Stevens murder case and was pleasantly surprised that although she was hungover, the hangover was not as bad as it usually was.

She went to her ensuite bathroom and removed the laddered and stained pantyhose that she was too tired to take off the night before and threw them in the bin. She used the toilet, had a long shower and sat at her vanity and fixed her makeup and did her hair. She gaffed and then opened a package of the pantyhose she had bought yesterday and slipped them on. It was nice to have drawers full of clean clothing for once and she stepped into a pair of hipster panties. Her work clothes were still at the twenty-four hour drycleaners so she slipped into jeans and a T-shirt and went to collect them.

Penelope stopped at the bodega and purchased a bottle of vodka, the bottle in her freezer was getting dangerously low. When she got home she hung up the dry-cleaning and picked out a navy-blue skirt and jacket for work.

Once again breakfast was a screwdriver, but at least this time it was made with fresh orange juice. She opened her gun safe and took out her weapon and credentials and was waiting outside when Silvia pulled up in the unmarked police vehicle.

“Fuck; you look almost decent,” Silvia goaded Penelope who was having nothing to do with it.

Penelope was on a nice buzz and didn’t want to spoil it.

Silvia was wearing one of her seemingly endless supply of pantsuits

“So how was your special evening with Sarah?” Penelope asked.

“It’s a lesbian relationship, we watched a romantic movie, then we argued for a while and after that we had great sex. What did you expect?” Silvia didn’t mind joking about lesbian tropes.

“You know there’s a new drug for lesbians on the market to cure depression, it's called Trycoxagain,” Penelope couldn’t help herself.

“Hey who says we don’t like cocks? We were arguing about whose turn it was to wear the strap-on,” Silvia countered.

“Ok you win,” Penelope punched her user code into the dashboard tablet to see if there had been any progress on the case.

It didn’t look good. The very few hairs and fibres collected on and around Rhonda Stevens’ bed came either from Rhonda herself or her clothing. Most of the fingerprints were eliminated and the few remaining prints did not bring up any hits when put though IAFIS.

Penelope passed on the bad news.

“We still have the phone and internet records, and the CCTV footage to go through. Maybe mister tall dark and handsome sent an email or called her,” Silvia said speculatively.

“At least we have his DNA from the semen,” she sighed.

“About that… there’s an IM from Brendan Scott asking us to call him about the semen sample,” Penelope said.

“Let’s hope it’s good news but I doubt he’d have a DNA match so soon, Silvia pulled into their allocated parking space in the parking lot under Police Plaza.

“Bull Semen!” Silvia screamed into the phone and Penelope winced.

Silvia got her temper under control and listened for a while and then she slammed down the phone.

“The fucker’s playing with us. He put bull semen inside her. There is no trace evidence of him whatsoever,” Silvia was angry.

She continued to read from the computer file.

“Rhonda Stevens was subject to rigorous and sustained vaginal sexual intercourse. There are no other marks or contusions on her other than what we saw at the crime scene. Before she was killed she was fit and healthy.”

“Cause of death was an overdose of neuromuscular-blocking drugs,” Silvia continued.

“In English please?” Penelope was sitting beside Silvia at her desk

“So the medical examiner said that she had puncture wounds in the crook of her arm right? Well the theory is that the first one was caused by the perp injecting Rhonda Stevens with a drug to paralyse her, and then follow on doses to keep her incapacitated and a final hot shot administered to kill her,” Silvia explained.

“At least she didn’t die violently,” Silvia sighed.

Penelope suddenly flew into a rage. She stood up and kicked the trashcan next to Silvia’s desk across the room, raising the heads of other detectives working in their cubicles.

“Fucking asshole! Fucking murdering, torturing asshole!” Penelope spat.

Silvia pulled Penelope back into her chair and looked at her quizzically.

“Don’t you see? It all fits now!” Penelope ruminated.

“The ill-fitting lingerie and heels, the makeup, the way she was posed, the lack of any physical evidence.”

“The fucker injects her, paralyses her, dresses her, puts the makeup on her, takes his time with her doing what he does, then he gives her a lethal dose to kill her.”

“He obviously wore a condom and I wouldn’t be surprised if he took precautions not to leave any other trace evidence. He would have worn surgical gloves and maybe he was shaved all over or something?” Penelope speculated.

“He bought the lingerie, the shoes, the perfume and makeup with him. None of the makeup Rhonda was wearing matched what she had on her dresser nor could I find a bottle of Poison.”

“This guy is meticulous and obsessive. Everything has to be just so. He fits a certain profile alright,” Penelope took her cigarettes and lighter out of her purse.

Rhonda followed her down the stairwell to the designated smoking area in the parking lot and watched her light up. Penelope was agitated, pacing up and down.

“So he paralyses her, does her hair and makeup, dresses her like a bride on her wedding night, fucks her and kills her?” Silvia summarised Penelope's theory.

Penelope nodded.

“But if she was paralysed she would have known what was happening to her; she wasn’t given an analgesic according to the coroner,” Silvia realised why Penelope was so angry.

“He wanted her awake; to know what he was doing to her!” Silvia suddenly felt horrified.

Silvia hadn’t smoked for two years but she snatched Penelope’s cigarette out of her hand and puffed on it furiously.

*****

Felicity Kendal lay under her husband. As always he had asked her to wear stockings, nylon panties, a bra and high heels and once again she had obliged. She loved her husband and would do anything to please him.

He had arrived home from his business trip in the early afternoon and ushered her straight upstairs to the bedroom. She became a little moist while she dressed in the lingerie and put on the heavy makeup he liked and the perfume. She didn’t care for the fetish clothing he bought her and her taste in makeup and perfume was quite uninspired but she liked what Michael did to her when he had her dress like this.

She had lain on the bed exactly as she knew he liked her to do with her arms by her side and her legs open. Michael worked on her sex with his fingers and his mouth; she bit down on her lip to stifle her moans, she knew he liked her to be quiet.

While he was licking her through the gauzy panties he was rubbing his cock on her leg; she could feel the hardness of it, the pulsing, and his pre-ejaculate soaking into her stocking. It made her wetter.

He mounted her, easing aside her panties and thrusting his big cock inside her vagina. She grunted when he entered her, then she bit her lip again. She stared up into eyes that were filled with fire and lust while he began to slowly fuck her. Felicity knew that she had to keep looking at him, staring at him; it was part of his fantasy.

Her husband’s cock was doing everything she wanted it to do and her cunt was tingling, she wanted to wrap her legs around her husband and grind against him, kiss him and hold him, but she lay still until he ejaculated.

“Ok now honey,” he smiled at her.

Now she was allowed to do exactly that, lock her legs around his back and rise up to greet his thrusts. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. She loved him and she loved him inside her; he stayed hard until she orgasmed and then she lay back on the bed exhausted.

She had chores to do and the girls would be home from school in an hour or so but she knew better than to get up. Michael would want to do it again soon. She wiped her vulva with some tissues from the box on the side of the bed so her vagina would be nice and fresh for him.

She didn’t mind. She loved that her husband couldn’t get enough of her. When he came home from his travels he was insatiable for the first few hours and later tonight he would do her again, and then wake her in the early hours and want more. He was a loving husband who provided for his family and adored his children and Felicity saw it as her duty to please him.

She started to get wet again in anticipation.

*****

Penelope and Silvia went down to CSI and then to the Coroner’s office and told Bob Tanner and Brendan Scott their theory. Both agreed that their hypothesis made sense and it explained everything they found or didn’t find, as the case may be, at the crime scene and on Rhonda Stevens’ body.

“What do you think the story is with the bull semen?” Brendan Scott asked.

Silvia deferred to Penelope.

“You can easily get hold of straws of frozen bull semen. He put it in her after he killed her or at least after he had finished using her. He likely did it as a ‘fuck you’ gesture,” Penelope said.

“It’s his way of telling us that he’s smarter than us,” Penelope spun her lighter around in her fingers.

“And you think that he kept her awake but unable to move while he had sex with her. I’m speculating the dose of neuromuscular blocker he gave her was measured to do exactly that, she would have felt everything he was doing to her and she would have been able to see, but she wouldn’t be able to move. The final dose was the kill shot; that’s my guess anyway; why else give her multiple doses?” Brendan agreed with Penelope.

“But how does he immobilise her to inject her? No one is going to just offer their arm or lie there while someone sticks a fucking needle in their vein,” Silvia asked.

“Maybe he put a gun on her, a knife, or threatened her some way?” Penelope speculated.

“Or used chloroform?” Silvia interjected.

“Well something similar, it’s very difficult to actually render someone unconscious using just a chloroform soaked rag, but if he mixed it with something else or drugged her drink, or if she was intoxicated?” Brendan speculated.

“This guy knows his drugs. He had to estimate Rhonda Steven’s body mass and then prepare and administer the exact amount of neuromuscular blocker to keep her paralysed for hours, so making up a concoction to knock her out briefly would be a breeze,” Brendan nodded sagely.

“I still can’t believe the fucker kept her awake throughout the ordeal,” Penelope shook her head.

“Do we call in the profilers?” Silvia looked at Penelope.

“Why are you asking me; aren’t you running lead on this investigation?” Penelope snapped back.

“A bit testy today are we sugar? Maybe you need a drink to settle down?” Silvia reacted.

Penelope spun on her heels and stormed away.

Silvia caught up with her at the Longhorn where she was staring at a cold Lone Star and a shot of JD, just watching the condensation run down the bottle.

“I know that you’re drinking breakfast. If you start drinking lunch too, you ain’t gonna last much longer on the PD,” Silvia said and removed the offending items from the bar.

“Hey Jimmy! Two cherry-cokes, two burgers bloody, and fries on the side,” Silvia called out to the bartender.

“So you’re replacing my two drinks with fat, sugar and fried carbohydrates?” Penelope whined.

Silvia poked her in the belly.

“Honey if all you are doin’ is drinking then you sure are putting it away ‘cause you got the making of potbelly there girl! When was the last time you went to the gym?” Silvia chided her friend.

She and Randy had been gym-junkies back in the day. Now she didn’t use the gym until about a month before the annual fitness test, just to ensure she was fit enough to pass.

“Ok! I’ll try to eat right and get down to the gym,” Penelope whined.

Over the next week the case became colder. They reviewed all of the CCTV in the area of the crime scene and came up with nothing. Rhonda Steven’s internet records gave them something. Pictures of Rhonda with two men turned up on her Facebook account and Julie Swindon confirmed that both of the men had been boyfriends. One of them was in jail at the time of the murder working off his third DUI conviction and the other was alibied by his new girlfriend.

Rhonda’s phone had bounced off a couple of cell towers between the Starlight Lounge and her apartment on the night of the crime. She had not taken any detours.

Penelope and Silvia were able to put together a timeline and they concluded that Rhonda had finished her shift around six in the morning and left with a man described as tall and handsome which supported Julie Swindon’s recollection. This was confirmed by the security guy on the door who admitted to being tired and pretty inattentive at that time of day after a twelve hour shift. They showed him the composite sketch and he said it could be the guy, but he couldn’t help them put more detail into image.

The women interviewed Zeke Dickinson the owner of the Starlight Lounge and asked to see his CCTV recordings. The recordings were grainy and a few of his cameras weren’t working. As his premises was not a licenced gambling establishment there was no real requirement for him to have proper surveillance and it was obvious that he had skimped on that particular part of the business. The only cameras that were effective were the ones covering the cash registers and the Gaming Room which featured eight-liner electronic ‘amusement’ machines.

Rhonda Stevens came in and out of view of the cameras, serving drinks, but there was nothing helpful and no video of her in company of a tall handsome man. Their interview with Zeke Dickinson did not go well.

“How long has Rhonda Stevens worked here?” Silvia began the interview in Zeke’s dingy office.

Penelope had tied one on the night before and was more than happy to let Silvia lead the interview.

“About a year and half or so I think; I can’t keep track of all the ‘booze-cooze’ around here, they come and go,” Zeke’s eyes were locked on Penelope’s legs; she was half asleep and had allowed her skirt to ride up.

Silvia’s hackles rose at Zeke’s misogynist attitude.

“I’d like you to look at me when you answer my questions mister Dickinson, not look up my partner’s skirt,” Silvia nudged Penelope, none to gently, to bring her out of her reverie.

“Hey; it pays to advertise is all I’m saying,” Zeke smiled, revealing a gold tooth in front.

He reminded her of a rat.

“So Rhonda worked here for just over a year and half. Was she a good employee?” Silvia asked.

“She could tend bar, cook short-order, work the registers but her best attributes were her legs, ass and boobs and she was a looker for a woman her age so she mainly worked the floor serving cocktails. She made money for the bar and earned good tips; what else can I say?” Zeke said smugly.

“Do you know if she had a relationship with any of the customers or were any of the customers unduly attentive to her?” Silvia took notes in her notebook.

“Look you’ve seen my joint. It has good looking waitresses wearing short dresses and low-cut tops selling cheap liquor to guys who like to play my eight-liners because they can’t afford to go to Vegas or AC. Fuck there’s an Indian casino not that far away. So you can guess the kind of clientele I get in here.”

“Most of the men are middle-aged losers, either single or divorced, and they all think they got a shot with the waitresses. That’s why I employ the more mature ladies. They can handle guys copping a feel or making inappropriate comments without going all PC and ‘Me Too’ on my ass. They suck up the bullshit and pocket the tips. As long as they don’t solicit on the premises and don’t short me at the register I don’t give a fuck,” Zeke made a point of studying his fingernails.

“Hey Bishop; you think that guy in Vice who is sweet on you might wanna come down to this shithole and maybe take a close look at Zeke’s eight-liner operation and also check to see if there is solicitation occurring on the premises?” Silvia had had enough of Zeke.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies… let’s not get all combative here. Rhonda Stevens was a trusted, reliable employee. She was friends with the other coo... I mean the other waitress Julie Swindon. As far as I know neither of those ladies solicited or picked up dates in my Lounge. They worked the graveyard shift, they worked hard and they were good employees.”

“I’ll get you copies of all my CCTV, copies of timesheets, employment records, and anything else you ask for. I’m sorry for being an asshole but it’s been a long day,” Zeke became instantly apologetic.

“Thank you mister Dickinson we will have all of those things you offered and we will interview some of your staff. I take it we may use your office?” Silvia gave him a crocodile smile.

“Hey, mi casa es su casa,” Zeke gestured graciously at his fleapit of an office.

Silvia and Penelope split up and worked the floor, talking to staff members, asking if they knew Rhonda Stevens so they could make a shortlist of interviewees.

Zeke cornered Penelope out back where she was smoking a cigarette.

“Your partner is a hardass,” Zeke commented lighting up a Marlboro.

“So am I; it’s just her turn to be bad-cop,” Penelope blew out a lungful of smoke.

“I’ve seen you in here haven’t I?” he gave her his rat-smile.

“It’s a free country, I can go where I like when I’m off duty,” Penelope replied.

Zeke reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a silver hip-flask. He opened it and took a slug and then waved it at Penelope. She looked around quickly and snatched it off him and took a long pull. She handed it back and leaned against the brick wall to let the liquor do its job.

“I bet you are a hardass too when you wanna be,” Zeke grinned.

Penelope just nodded, her eyes were closed.

Zeke cast a critical eye over her.

“Speaking of asses. If you lost a few pounds I’d hire you in heartbeat if you ever wanted to moonlight as a cocktail waitress,” Zeke said.

“Fuck off before I bust you for something,” Penelope sighed.

She went back inside to join Silvia, searching for a breath-mint in her purse.

The interviews revealed nothing that they didn’t already know.

Back at Police Plaza Penelope stared at her whiteboard. Despite all the technology, she still liked to have an old-fashioned time line and story board to work from.

“You know from what we’ve established our murderer had somewhere between twelve and twenty four hours with Rhonda Stevens before he killed her,” Penelope speculated.

“I was hoping the fact that he had reapplied her lipstick might lead to something. I think he kissed her and that’s why her lipstick was smudged but the area around her lips and inside her mouth was pristine,” Penelope sighed.

“Brendan Scott thinks that that if he used an alcohol solution on her anywhere he might not have left any DNA,” Silvia responded.

“This case is doing my head in,” Penelope sighed.

“The Chief wants us to park it and start working other cases,” Silvia said.

“What about getting the Profilers involved?” Silvia tapped her pen against her teeth.

“I’m shipping what we have to Quantico. The FBI are too busy to come here; they are tied up doing their Homeland Security gig,” Silvia stood up and stretched.

*****

Michael Kendal stopped in Austin and found the lingerie shop he was looking for. They had the red panties and bras he was after but not the garter-belt or the stockings. He had better luck at an adult store in a seedier part of the city and was able to purchase two pairs of red nylon stockings and two red satin suspender belts. He saw some novelty red plastic devil’s horn headbands and tossed two of them in with his purchases.

Around the corner he was able to purchase two pairs of shiny red high heels in the largest size they had.

He paid cash for everything. An examination of his credit card or online activity would turn up only innocuous purchases.

Michael put his new purchases into his special suitcase and smiled. If law enforcement ever examined his special suitcase he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Pharmaceutical companies generally only hire sales representatives who hold a four-year bachelor's degree or higher from an accredited college which is exactly what Michael Kendal had: a Bachelor of Science in Pharmaceutical Sciences. He’d majored in chemistry and as an undergraduate had studied marketing, sales, advertising, and business administration. He’d taken electives in organic chemistry, pharmacology, and toxicology.

This might explain the pharmaceuticals in his sample bag but not the rape kit.

Driving to Balwyn in the hire car Michael recounted his adventures with ‘the bride’. He had enjoyed her company but he’d been a little reckless with her being his first and all. First off he had picked her up in that dive the Starlight Lounge, but once he’d seen her he had to have her. He’d been discreet but they might have been seen leaving together. Also he’d kissed her, he couldn’t help it; she looked so gorgeous dressed that way, her makeup was perfect but it was her eyes. Her eyes full of fear and dread. Her eyes staring at him, pleading with him, the surrender in them when she realised that he had come inside her.

Michael had to pull over at that point and relieve himself into a nylon stocking that he kept in the glove compartment just for that purpose. He was so highly sexed that he never knew when he might have to attend to his needs.

He would be more careful with his next victim.

Michael had a suite at the best hotel in Balwyn. This was his fifth visit to the city since he’d changed jobs. He stayed for an average of three days, most of the days he spent at Kent Pharmaceuticals keeping abreast of the latest products and developments before he made his rounds to some of the most prestigious teaching hospitals and surgeries in the South doing what he did best, selling Kent Pharmaceutical products.

He’d cased Balwyn’s downtown area and the surrounding suburbs and had perfected his plan so he could fulfil his ultimate fantasy. Michael had used plenty of women in other towns and cities before Rhonda and it had been nice, well for him at least. But what he had done with Rhonda Stevens had been transcendent. It was close to perfect.

And he was ready to do it again.

Mary Whitehouse had almost fallen into his lap it was so easy. He’d cruised a few hangouts and finally settled at the Fox and Firkin, a faux British Pub which looked to be full of lonely people seeking a spark of warmth. Mary Whitehouse almost radiated desperation. She was a pretty, middle-aged, middle-class divorcee who was wearing a skirt that was too short for her and a blouse that was too tight. She was carrying a couple of extra pounds but she had great legs, a great ass and nice tits. She had straight, shoulder-length black hair which she wore with bangs.

Michael Kendal gleaned all this sitting beside her at the bar studiously ignoring her, or so it seemed. He pretended to be immersed in the file in front of him and then the screen of his tablet. He looked like any another sad working stiff having a drink after work.

He listened to Mary tell her life story to a succession of men who sat beside her trying to chat her up. Most left quickly when she told them that she had two kids. A couple stayed on when she told them that the kids were staying with her husband for a few days and she was home alone. But they all gave up eventually. It was obvious that Mary was looking for a relationship not a one night stand.

Michael followed her at a discreet distance when she caught a taxi home. The setup looked perfect and he stayed up most of the night perfecting his plan, he set out early.

Across the street from her house was a dog park and Michael parked in one of the parking bays where he could see her house. As soon as he saw movement he got out of the car, took a deep breath, looked up and down the street, and seeing the coast was clear, he crossed the road.

Mary Whitehouse was still sleepy as she stood in the kitchen dressed in her flannel pyjamas and nightgown putting coffee into the Bunn coffee maker. The knock at the door so early surprised her and she padded to the front door and opened it. She lived in a nice quiet neighbourhood so there was no need to worry.

When she saw the tall handsome man dressed in his tracksuit, and training shoes, gloves and beanie, holding a dog leash in his gloved hand she wished that she was dressed a little better.

“Hey I know it’s early and I apologise, but my dog bolted on me. He ran across the road and I think he went into your back yard,” the man smiled at her, holding up the leash and Mary really wished she had put a little makeup on.

“That’s strange because I had my gates and fences fixed not that long ago because…” she had turned her back on him and stepped back into hallway to retrieve her keys from the hallstand.

Michael unzipped his fanny-pack and whipped out the Ziploc bag. He took out the disposable dust mask with the cotton wool soaked in his special concoction of chloroform inside it and whipped it over Mary Whitehouse’s nose and clamped one hand over face and put the other around her waist, pulling her into him and holding there while she struggled. After about thirty seconds she passed out.

This was the most dangerous time for him.

He kicked the front door closed behind him, dragged Mary to the lounge and lay her down. He took off his woollen gloves and beanie put on his surgical gloves and the do-rag he had made from pantyhose and covered his hair. He fixed the dust mask to her face with the elastic and quickly checked that the house to ensure it was indeed empty.

He checked himself for any scratches or contusions and was relieved to see there were none. He took another Ziploc bag from his fanny-pack; this one contained a syringe filled with a measured dose of clear fluid.

Michael took off Mary’s nightgown and pyjamas and laid her out prone on the floor in her underwear so he could make a better assessment of her body mass. He decided that he had made a correct estimate last night and he took the dusk mask off her face and waited for Mary to start to come around. It might be fatal to inject while she was still under the influence of his chloroform solution.

When Mary showed signs of rousing, Michael lifted her onto the couch. She opened her eyes but she was still groggy.

“We’re going to have so much fun Mary; so much fun!” he giggled like girl.

He saw her eyes widen when she saw him put the syringe into her vein; and then she went limp.

Michael checked her two-car garage and was very happy to find one space vacant. He put his woollen gloves over his surgical gloves and the beanie over the do-rag and when the coast was clear he sprinted across the road and drove his car into Mary Whitehouse’s garage and closed the garage door.

He opened the trunk and took out the special suitcase, laid it on the garage floor and opened it. He stripped naked; he had completely shaved from his neck to his toes last night as an added precaution. He put on the spandex bodysuit; there were holes for his eyes and his mouth and his hands, the rest of his body was completely covered. He had also cut a small hole in the crotch, big enough for his erect penis to poke out of. He put on a fresh pair of surgical gloves, closed the case and took it up to Mary Whitehouse's bedroom.

He came down and checked on Mary again. She was breathing fine but unable to move. Michael could see the terror in her eyes and he started to become erect. He put her in a fireman’s carry and lugged her upstairs, laid her on the bed and stripped her out of her underwear. Michael was pleased to see that she was shaved.

“Ok honey, let’s make you pretty,” Michael was very excited now and he had to force himself to calm down.

It was awkward trying to dress a comatose woman in lingerie and stockings but he enjoyed it, particularly smoothing the stockings up her legs and clipping the welts to the garter belt. He took out his makeup kit and went to work; it had taken him hours of practice on himself to perfect the makeup just how he liked it. He was now an expert so it didn’t take him long at all to do Mary. He brushed out her hair and then posed her on the bed, taking the time to look into those beautiful blue eyes that were now awash with terror.

“Ok honey one last thing,” he put the red high heels on her feet and the red plastic devil’s horns headband on her head and sprayed her liberally with Poison.

“Perfect!” he clapped his hands like an excited schoolboy.

“Ok now just let me do this,” he said to no one in particular and took a GoPro camera and mounted it on its little flexible tripod ensuring it would film everything that happened on the bed.

Michael took out a box of extra-large condoms and unwrapped four of them and put them on the bedside table with a tube of lubricant.

“I didn’t need the lubricant with Rhonda and I’m hoping I won’t need it with you,” Michael leaned over Mary’s face.

He wanted to kiss her already but he’d wait and see if it was worth the risk, he had plenty of alcohol wipes and a spray bottle if necessary.

He freed his erection from the bodysuit and rolled a condom onto it all the way down to the base of his shaft.

“Ok Mary; let’s get started. I’ll need relief almost straight away but don’t worry, I recover quickly and we have all day and all night,” he grinned at her as he climbed on the bed.

When he finished with her the next day he cleaned up everything, triple-checking that he had left nothing to incriminate himself. In a plastic trash bag went the six condoms he’d used, the four pair of surgical gloves, a handful of alcohol swabs and their wrappers and all the other detritus from the scene.

He’d sprayed every surface that he had touched with alcohol and wiped it down, including Mary’s lips and mouth. He’d had to reapply her lipstick twice. Michael just couldn’t help kissing her.

He packed away the GoPro and hefted the suitcase down to the garage.

Michael came back with the straw of frozen horse semen which he fitted to a syringe and deposited in her vulva.

“You should find that amusing, you dumb fucks,” he chuckled as he lifted the sheer gusset of Mary’s red panties back into place.

He took one last look around and left Mary Whitehouse’s bedroom for the final time.

Down in her garage he stripped out of the Lycra bodysuit, put on his tracksuit, packed everything up and put it in the trunk. He drove away in the early hours of the morning, stopping briefly to remove the stolen plates from his vehicle and replace them with the registered tags.

*****

The young black man was fit and muscular, his cock stood out hard and proud, inches from Penelope Bishop’s puckered sphincter. She was kneeling on the bed in a cheap hotel room dressed in black stockings, a bustier and black high heels.

The last few hours of Penelope's life was a blur. This weekend was the anniversary of Randy Cody’s death and she needed to numb the pain. She’d driven to Helensvale, a college town about an hour from Balwyn with the specific intent of getting drunk and taking some stranger back to her hotel room so that she could forget all about Randy’s death, using booze and sex to desensitise herself.

Penelope remembered bar-hopping, mainly hitting the LGBTI bars looking for tranny-chasers. She had deliberately dressed provocatively. The last thing she remembered before she blacked out was that she that she had somehow ended up at a college bar talking to two handsome young men.

Penelope cycled back into consciousness as the fit young black man positioned behind her was about to enter her anus and a fit young white man was kneeling in front of her on the bed with his steely member inches from her mouth.

“Hot damn! Man I always wanted to do this, spit-roast a tranny!” the black guy said enthusiastically.

“Well shut the fuck up and do it,” Penelope wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

He gripped her hips and slammed his cock into Penelope’s lubricated anus.

“Mmm… that’s the stuff,” she pushed back against him and gyrated her ass.

“Now you big boy,” Penelope reached for the white guy’s cock.

He moved forward and thrust it into her mouth.

“Maybe this bitch will shut the fuck up now,” the white guy chuckled.

Penelope went to work sucking on his cock, using her tongue on the underside, lapping at his fraenulum, and her lips on the shaft. The man behind her got into a steady rhythm, holding her hips and fucking her with long hard strokes, driving himself all the way inside her.

He picked up the pace and Penelope sensed he was about to come so she pushed back hard and ground her buttocks against him whilst slavering at the cock in her mouth. When she felt the black man fill her anus with semen she quickly whipped a hand to her own penis and stroked it until it spattered her seed on the bedsheet.

“Fuck that is hot!” the white guy growled.

As soon as the black guy pulled out of Penelope’s anus the white guy took his place. He fucked for a few minutes and then came inside her. Penelope was a little sore by then but she encouraged him and wriggled her ass appreciatively.

Penelope lay propped on the pillows watching the two young men get dressed while she drank Jack Daniel’s straight from the bottle, semen dribbling from her sphincter and soaking into her panties.

“Wait until we tell the guys at school that we gangbanged a tranny,” the white boy patted his friend on the shoulder enthusiastically.

“Hey! How old are you guys?” Penelope called out as they opened the door that led directly out to the parking lot.

“What the fuck do you care you old skank. Just be glad you got some fresh young meat tonight,” the black boy heckled her and slammed the door behind them.

“Jesus Penelope, you gotta sober up,” she sighed, lifting the bottle to her lips.

The next afternoon Penelope was sober enough to drive and she set out on the road back to Balwyn determined to control her drinking. She was about half an hour outside of the city she got a text from Silvia.

‘We have another body. Same MO. Call me.’

To be continued