Author’s Note: Penelope Bishop first appeared in my story ’Cop Town Girl’. This saga stands on its own but if you want to read about Penelope’s past, the story is available for your perusal. I hope you enjoy this thriller.

Penelope Bishop woke up to the ringing of her cell phone, her head groggy; to her it sounded like Quasimodo was ringing the bells of Notre Dame Cathedral inside her head.

“Fuck!” she reached out to her bedside table and on the third attempt snatched up her phone and silenced it by answering it.

“Yeah,” her mouth tasted like someone had taken a dump in it.

“Is that the way to greet your partner and currently your best, no scrub that, only friend on the Balwyn PD?” Silvia Bickle replied.

“Fuck you Silvia. It’s Monday, our day off,” Penelope yawned into the phone.

“You gotta give up or at least cut down on the booze princess, it’s fuckin’ Tuesday and we caught a case,” Silvia answered in a voice that sounded bright and cheery.

“Get up. Get dressed and I’ll meet you out front in twenty minutes.”

“Fuck!” Penelope’s head was throbbing and her whole body ached.

“Nice. See you in twenty sister,” Silvia cut the connection.

Penelope knew that being cheerful early in the morning was Silvia's way of torturing her.

Penelope forced herself to get up. She sat on the side of the bed dressed only in her panties and put her head between her legs until the dizziness and nausea went away sufficiently for her to stand. She made her way haltingly to the bathroom and opened the lid of the toilet. She reached inside the leg opening of her panties and extracted her penis; she had a morning glory which began to deflate immediately she got a steady stream going.

“Fuck being ladylike,” she wheezed as she guided the stream into the bowl.

Normally she would have lowered her panties and sat down to pee like a woman but this morning she just couldn’t be bothered.

She came back out of the ensuite bathroom and examined the damage. The work suit she had taken off two days ago still hung over the back of the chair in front of her vanity. The leather miniskirt and leopard-skin skank outfit she had worn last night was balled up in the corner along with her bra. Her high heels tossed on top of them. Her nylons hung over the bedhead.

Penelope saw two empty spirit glasses on her bedside table and two bottles of beer, one of which appeared to be half full.

She picked it up and took a slug and immediately spat back into the bottle. Someone had put a cigarette out in it.

Penelope made it back to the toilet bowl just in time to upchuck last night’s dinner: a hotdog and a few peanuts from the communal bowl at the bar. She rinsed her mouth and drank greedily directly from the tap. She went back into the bedroom and heard a snore come from the mound of bedclothes on the other side of the bed from which she’d slept.

She picked up a high heel and threw it at the mound and congratulated herself for hitting the mound about where the head should be.

“Hey!” a slumberous male voice called from the mound.

“Hey! Whoever the fuck you are,” Penelope yelled at the mound.

“I’m taking a shit and a shower and if you’re not out of my apartment when I come out of the bathroom I’m going to open my gun safe and show you my weapon.”

“I don’t know if I told you last night that I am a cop but just take it as wrote. If you take anything with you that isn’t yours, I’ll find you and beat you to a pulp before I bring you in and then call your wife and tell her that her husband spent last night with a tranny and would she like to pick him up from jail,” Penelope burped up a vile gobbet of mucus and then swallowed, wincing.

Penelope punished herself not only by drinking herself to oblivion, she brought home faceless men, some of whom had watched internet tranny porn and wanted to try the real thing until they did and then they felt remorse and disgust with themselves. She was surprised this one had stayed the night.

She went back into her bathroom and closed the door. She looked at herself in the mirror.

She was still wearing last night’s makeup, no surprise there. Her lipstick, eyeshadow and mascara were streaked across her face and her hair was a tangled mess; clumps of it were stuck together by substances that she’d rather not guess. She took her toothbrush and toothpaste into the shower and ran it at full force as hot as she could stand it. She brushed her teeth three times, rinsing with mouthwash each time, and then she washed her hair and scrubbed her face. She lathered her body, rinsed off and felt a little better.

That was until she looked at herself in the full length mirror in the bedroom. The good thing about having breast implants was that her tits were always going to look good but the rest of her body was a testament to hard living. Her skin was pallid, she had the beginnings of a potbelly, her legs were still good but they needed shaving and she had bruises and contusions in several places and she didn’t know how she had got them.

Her face, once pretty, had hardened, she was still beautiful but her beauty had an edge to it, she had bags under her eyes and wrinkles in what she called her laugh-lines; not that she laughed much anymore.

“Thank fuck for makeup,” she whispered to herself.

She dried her hair as best she could with the hairdryer but it was still damp when she brushed it out. She put on her makeup and went searching for clothes to wear.

Penelope opened her lingerie drawer and saw that she had only one pair of clean panties, big white nylon granny-panties but they would have to do. She snagged the pantyhose off the headboard and the bra from the pile of clothing in the corner. It was then that she noticed that her ‘gentleman friend’ had left and she breathed a sigh of relief. She sat on the bed to pull on her pantyhose, tucking herself between her legs; she wasn't up to gaffing today. She pulled the granny-panties over the hose and was happy with the result. She put on her bra and took her suit into the lounge and threw it on sofa.

She looked at the clock and realised that there was no time to make coffee, no matter how desperately she needed it. She opened her refrigerator and saw that the shelves were bare except for a single bottle of beer, a half carton of orange juice with a use-by date of five days ago and two Tupperware containers of something mouldy.

She eyed the bottle of Lone Star and imagined drinking down the cold refreshing liquid but knew the beer would stay on her breath. She opened the freezer section and took out a half-bottle of vodka and put a slug in her cleanest dirty glass and topped it off with orange juice.

Penelope drank it in one long swallow and resisted the urge to make a second drink. Instead she went into the laundry and rummaged around until she found her cleanest dirty blouse. It was one of those days when cleanest dirty would have to do.

“Christ I gotta do some laundry,” she whispered to herself.

“I gotta get my life in order,” she whispered again, pulling on the blouse and using a wet washcloth on a stubborn stain on the front of it.

Her work suit was a little better. It was rumpled but at least it wasn’t stained.

Penelope unlocked the gun safe and took out her Glock, her gold shield and her ID. She pinned the shield to the waistband of her skirt, put the Glock in its pancake holster and threw her ID into her purse. She sat down and squeezed her feet into her black low-heels and rubbed them with the same washcloth which she had used on her blouse.

“Fuck!” she sighed again as another wave of nausea washed over her.

She stood up, found her keys and tossed them into her purse and made her way to the front door. She ran back to the kitchen and took another slug of vodka straight from the bottle and then she took a deep breath and opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

“Not too bad,” she lied to herself as she checked herself out in the mirror in the elevator.

Penelope put on her sunglasses and walked to the kerb checking her watch. Silvia Bickle was sitting in the driver’s seat of a city owned Crown Vic and she looked pissed.

Penelope slid into the front passenger seat and closed the door with a hefty thunk, pretending to be bright eyed and bushy tailed but the slamming door triggered another headache.

“You look like shit girl,” Silvia stated the obvious.

Silvia was thirty-five, slim but powerful, and was wearing a pristine dark-grey pantsuit, dazzling white blouse, and polished black low heels. Her makeup was perfect and complimented her complexion, her loose black curls cascaded to her shoulders. A native Texan, she was African American, incredibly beautiful and a lesbian. She had been Penelope’s partner for just over a year.

“What have we got?” Penelope yawned.

“What time did you get to bed or more importantly what time did you get to sleep girl?” Silvia asked.

“None of your beeswax honey; what we got?” Penelope reiterated.

“SWF aged thirty-eight, cocktail waitress, found dead in her apartment, almost certainly a homicide and sexual assault,” Silvia replied.

“Another woman who brought home the wrong guy, jealous partner, robbery gone wrong?” Penelope speculated.

“Well you’d know all about bringing home the wrong guy,” Penelope said sarcastically.

“Fuck you. Let’s get to the scene,” Penelope mooched in her handbag for cigarettes and pulled one out.

“You light that and I’m going to throw it out the window and you will follow,” Silvia said through gritted teeth.

Penelope tossed the cigarette back in her bag and leaned back in the seat. Five minutes later she was propped against the window, fast asleep. Her legs were wide open, her skirt hiked up and she was snoring. Silvia noted that Penelope had a runner in her stocking on the inside of her right leg running from ankle to thigh.

“You’re all class girl,” Silvia said to herself.

She reached over and pulled down the hem of Penelope’s skirt.

“Don’t touch what you can’t afford,” Penelope said; her eyelids slitted.

“You got nothing under that skirt that I’m interested in girl,” Silvia replied.

Penelope slept until they were a half block from the crime scene when Silvia shook her awake.

“Rise and shine sugar; get your game face on,” Silvia said.

Outside a three-story redbrick apartment block, cordoned off with police tape, were the corner’s van, a CSI van, and three cruisers with their top lights spinning lazily. Uniformed cops stood around keeping a small crowd outside the barrier but mainly shooting the shit and trying to look like they were actually working.

“Let’s get those assholes busy going door to door,” Penelope yawned and shook her head to wake herself up.

Silvia tossed Penelope a bottle of spring water which she opened and gulped down and then she gave her a stick of gum.

“I love you partner,” Penelope smirked.

“I fuckin’ hate you partner, you’re hard work,” Silvia got out of the car.

Penelope got out and did her best to straighten her skirt and jacket.

“Here comes the alphabet twins,” one of the cops joked.

He was referring to the joke about the LGBTI community highjacking twenty percent of the alphabet.

Silvia walked up to a Sargent who was leaning on a cruiser.

“You guys got an identity on the vic? This her place?”

He opened his notebook.

“Rhonda Stevens. The building manger confirmed that a woman fitting the description of the deceased is the registered tenant. Lived here for two years plus, good tenant, pays her rent on time, no noise complaints yadda yadda yadda,” the cop flicked through the pages of his notebook.

“Did you just yadda a potential murder victim Sargent?” Silvia gave him a grave look.

“Sorry Lieutenant,” the Sargent replied with no remorse whatsoever.

“The vic’s friend was worried because she didn’t make her shift at the Starlight Lounge and wasn't answering her calls. The friend had a key to the apartment and let herself in. Found Ms Stevens dead and dialled 911,” the Sargent continued.

“Leave one officer to secure the scene and get those other guys and gals canvassing the neighbourhood,” Silvia was no nonsense.

“Yes ma’am,” the Sargent replied.

“Ok assholes. Hoofs and elbows; get canvassing,” the Sargent yelled out and Silvia cringed.

Penelope had taken the time to smoke half a cigarette which she crushed out on the pavement when Silvia approached her outside the entrance to the apartment.

“You did the class on crime scene integrity right?” Silvia was getting pissed.

Penelope bent down gingerly and picked up the butt. She followed Silvia inside the building.

Unlike the characters in CSI television shows, the crime scene techs didn’t wear Armani, Gucci, or look like fashion models or rock stars or have large calibre pistols on their hips. They were mostly pale dweebs who wore disposable, papery-plastic protective material called Tyvek on top of their own clothes, and latex gloves, and hair coverings to prevent them from contaminating the scene. They wore disposable Tyvek booties over their shoes and were meticulous about where they trod.

As the detectives assigned to the case, Penelope and Silvia were allowed access to the crime scene but had to wear booties, gloves and hair coverings. The CSI team had laid plastic mat strips over the carpet in Rhonda Stevens’ bedroom where they were allowed to walk.

“Welcome Lieutenants Bishop and Bickle. You know the drill and if you see anything we need to process, please advise me accordingly,” Bob Tanner was leader of the CSI team.

He was a hair and fibre specialist and was accompanied by a fingerprint expert, currently using a brush and black powder on the hard surfaces, and a crime scene photographer who was taking snaps with a high resolution camera. Yellow and black numbered tags were placed next to items considered significant to the crime.

Silvia had taken the PD issued iPad from their vehicle and was entering in data in a newly created case file. Penelope surveyed the crime scene and a shiver ran down her spine. This was no ordinary murder scene.

Rhonda Stevens lay on her back on her bed. She almost looked serene, like she was sleeping. Her hands were opened, arms by her side, her legs spread. She was wearing a white see-through bra and translucent white hipster panties, white sheer stockings clipped to a white satin and lace garter belt, and white high heels. She was also wearing a white satin and lace wedding veil, pulled back to reveal her face.

Her makeup was perfect and her brunette hair, worn short with bangs was coiffed. She looked like a bride on her wedding night.

“Maybe she got fed up of being a spinster and took a permanent vacation?” the officer standing at the doorway controlling access to the crime scene added helpfully.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up and face front officer,” Penelope said brusquely to the rookie who was obviously trying to ingratiate himself with the detectives, ridiculously offering suicide as a cause of death.

The officer turned away and faced front but turned around to watch again after he was no longer the focus of attention.

Brendan Scott, the medical examiner, was packing his valise and when he was finished he walked over to where Penelope and Silvia were standing, surveying the crime scene.

“Cause of death?” Silvia asked.

“There are no obvious signs of a gunshot wound, stabbing, or strangulation but there are puncture wounds in the crook of her left elbow; looks like she was recently injected with something but there is no evidence of her being a drug user,” Brendon shook his head.

“There are also no defensive wounds I can see but she has obviously had sexual relations recently. I’ll have a better idea once we get her to morgue. There is something strange about the whole thing,” Brendon Scott said, scratched his balding pate.

“I’ll have my guys collect her when you release the body from the scene,” he walked away gripping his medical bag.

“It’s staged,” Penelope said, regarding Rhonda Stevens’ body.

Both women moved in to examine the body being careful where they stood and not to touch anything. Penelope’s hangover diminished as she focussed her mind on the crime scene.

“Definitely staged, look at how her arms and legs have been arranged; her legs lewdly spread. You can see the semen glistening in her vulva though those transparent panties. I’m guessing was raped, probably before she was killed, and was possibly unconscious when intercourse took place,” Penelope studied the corpse.

“Look; it’s not only how she’s dressed, the fetishism of it, she was obviously dressed by someone else while she was either dead or unconscious. Nothing really fits right. Look at those heels; they have to be two sizes too big for her feet. I bet you that the murderer brought those clothes to the scene,” Penelope shined her small torch over Rhonda Stevens’ body.

“The makeup too; I bet that was put while she was unconscious or dead. Whoever did it did a great job, a bit heavy for my taste though,” Penelope directed the beam of her torch onto Rhonda Stevens’ face.

Silvia Bickle harrumphed when Penelope made her comment about the woman’s makeup being heavy; Penelope was known to ‘slap on the paint’ herself.

“What’s that smell; perfume? It’s really strong,” Penelope sniffed the body.

“I think I know that smell; Poison, it was a really popular perfume in the eighties,” Penelope sniffed Rhonda Stevens’ neck.

“Hey. Look at this,” Penelope leaned in, and used a magnifying glass she had borrowed from the forensic team.

“Her lipstick has been reapplied. It’s been smeared and then a second coat has been put over. I think the murderer was kissing her and smeared her makeup and then reapplied the lipstick,” Penelope leaned away from the body.

“You ready for my take?” Penelope asked Silvia.

“Sure professor; tell me what you think,” Silvia replied.

“The murderer drugged her, that’s the needle mark in her arm. He knocked her out and dressed her like this including putting on her makeup and brushing her hair. He had sex with her, hence the semen inside her panties, during which he kissed her, rather passionately to smudge that expensive two-coat lipstick,” Penelope began.

“When he finished with her, and we don’t know how long he was here, he fixed her makeup, rearranged her lingerie and posed her like that, legs spread.”

“I bet we find that none of her own lingerie comes close to the sort of stuff she’s wearing; I bet you he brought the clothing to the scene, probably the makeup too.”

“When he was done he jabbed her again to kill her, if she wasn’t dead before,” Penelope hypothesised.

“Thank you Sherlock. Shall we work the scene?” Silvia was being flippant but she agreed with Penelope’s theory.

They let the CSI guys go to work on the body and they worked the crime scene, Silvia entered data into the tablet, which had an encrypted link to Police Plaza, a grandiose name for the building annexed to the Balwyn municipal building.

“Ok, let’s tag her and bag her,” Bob Tanner was ripping off his gloves.

“Don’t talk like that Bob. I know this job hardens us, but have a little respect please,” Penelope said.

Bob nodded apologetically.

Penelope and Silvia sat down to compare notes on the couch in Rhonda Stevens’ small combined living room, kitchen.

“You first,” Penelope was thirsty and jonesing for a cigarette.

“No sign of forced entry, my guess is the guy came home with her or was invited inside,” Silvia began.

“The little cocktail waitress dress and the underwear that she wore for work at the Starlight Lounge were folded up on a chair in her bedroom. Her heels are under the chair. I took photos and bagged it for forensics to look at.”

“I checked her wardrobe, clothes drawers and all the cupboards. Her underwear is as about what you’d expect for a working cocktail waitress; lots of nude pantyhose, plenty of satin panties and half cup bras. That cocktail waitress dress is low-cut and short-skirted but there is nothing like the fetish lingerie she was wearing.”

“There is no packaging for the lingerie or the heels either. I agree with you that murderer or murderers for that matter, we still don’t know it was only one person, brought the white lingerie and heels with him.”

“The shoes she’s wearing are indeed two sizes bigger than the size she wears, which is odd.”

“No signs of a struggle but obvious signs of sexual activity. That’s what I got,” Silvia put down her tablet.

“What if it’s one size fits all?” Penelope mused.

“What the fuck you talking about girl?” Silvia looked puzzled.

“The lingerie fits fine; sort of. Stockings come in short, medium, long or extra-long but the larger sizes will fit a smaller woman. I bet those are long. The bra and panties she’s wearing are bed-wear, not really suitable for anything else. They’re clingy nylon, maybe some spandex, but I bet they too are a larger size. The shoes, I checked, are a size twelve; almost any woman could get her feet in them but they’d be loose-fitting unless you are a really big girl; but then it’s not like he was taking her dancing was he?”

“My bet is this guy bought the lingerie and heels in larger sizes so they would fit pretty much any victim he chose,” Penelope posed.

“So you are ruling out family, friends and acquaintances already?” Silvia asked.

“Not ruling them out but this is a sex crime. The victim was selected, I don’t know, maybe wooed over time but I doubt it, a pick up is more likely. I think he had bought the fetish-wear already and was just looking for a victim to put in it.”

“Rhonda Stevens has still got it going for a thirty-eight-year old. Good looking, great tits, good figure and long legs; your typical cocktail waitress. Christ; that dress they made her wear for work is almost a fetish garment in itself,” Penelope said

“I don’t like where this is going; you’re suggesting we have a fetish killer on our pad and those guys normally don’t just stop at one murder,” Silvia shivered.

“Look that’s an early hypothesis. We’ll follow procedure and put together a timeline and interview her family, friends and co-workers first to see what shakes loose,” Penelope said.

“Yep we gonna do all that but then I think we’re going to tell the Chief that we suspect we have a thrill killer on our hands,” Silvia said.

The two women wrapped up the crime scene and left the apartment. They ditched their scene of crime over-boots, hair caps and gloves in the receptacle provided by CSI.

Penelope immediately lit a cigarette while Silvia went to talk to the Sargent. She came back shaking her head.

“Nobody saw anything useful. The guys are collecting any CCTV footage taken in the vicinity; there’s a bodega across the road that might have something useful. Let’s go interview her friend who found the body,” Silvia nodded to a woman sitting in one of the cruisers.

Julie Swindon was also thirty-eight, a good looking woman who looked a little world-weary and tired. She was wearing a red satin and lace, low cut, short-skirted, cocktail waitress dress, nude pantyhose and black high heels. Her makeup was heavy, as you would expect, and her bottle-blonde hair was teased out.

They took her to a nearby coffee lounge rather than taking her down to Police Plaza, she wasn't a suspect and it was less threatening. Julie was tired and emotional.

“Rhonda works the graveyard shift at the Starlight Lounge, same as I do, and she didn’t show up last night so I called her after work. We both need the money bad, why else would we do that shitty job, so I thought she had to be really sick not to come to work or answer the phone,” Julie began.

“I went to her place this morning after I finished my shift, I have my own key, and I found… well you know what I found,” Julie began to sob.

“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt her or anyone who was stalking or harassing her?” Silvia asked.

“I don’t know anyone who would want to hurt her. Rhonda was single and she’s had a few beaus over the year and half that I’ve known her but they all seemed like good guys,” Julie wiped her eyes with a tissue smearing her already smudged mascara.

“There are a lot of creeps at the Starlight. They think because our tits, legs and asses are on show they can cop a feel and then tip us two lousy dollars for delivering a drink,” Julie said bitterly.

“Tell me about the Starlight?” Silvia coaxed Julie to open up.

“The place sells cheap booze and has a ‘bargain buffet’; the cocktail waitresses are mainly mature women, all the young girls work in Reno or Vegas where the money is. You can see how we have to dress. The place is also a haven for hookers so you can imagine the clientele it draws.”

“Out back is a gaming room featuring eight-liner electronic gambling machines. By law the maximum cash payout is five dollars but Zeke has ways to get around that, usually by providing a debit card that can be topped up and withdrawn from,” Julia spun her coffee around on the table top.

“Yeah; it’s not the most salubrious joint in town,” Penelope piped in.

Silvia gave Penelope a knowing look; she knew that the Starlight was one of Penelope's hangouts.

“I don’t know of anyone that might want to hurt Rhonda. What I do know is that the night before last, a tall good looking guy in the Starlight was chatting her up. She seemed keen on him,” Julie said and Silvia and Penelope’s ears pricked up.

“We aren’t allowed to date customers, Zeke says because we could be charged with soliciting, but I think it’s so the real hookers get first dibs.”

“But there is nothing stopping the waitresses arranging to meet the guy somewhere else after work,” Julie explained.

“Is that what Rhonda did? Did she arrange to meet this guy?” Silvia asked.

“I honestly don’t know. I didn’t see her after work; she left before me,” Julie said.

“Is that usual? Do you usually leave together?” Silvia leaned in.

“Not always, we live at different ends of town. Sometimes we have coffee together and gossip; sometimes we go straight home; we’re always tired after work. I just wish I’d have been with her and not the sicko who did what he did to her,” Julie started to sob again.

“I want you to come downtown and sit with our sketch artist and see if we can get a composite of this tall handsome guy she was talking with ok?” Silvia asked and Julie nodded.

*****

The woman looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was perfect. The brunette wig was short with bangs, almost the exact same colour and style that Rhonda Stevens had been but not quite. It was the best she could do. She sprayed herself liberally with Poison perfume.

She was wearing a white see-through bra and translucent white hipster panties, white sheer stockings clipped to a white satin and lace garter belt and white high heels.

She was a lot taller than Rhonda Stevens and bigger built, the lingerie fit but some of it was tight; she didn’t mind.

She walked over to the bed, her high heels squeezed her feet but they were the largest size they had in white, not that it mattered, it’s not like she was going dancing.

She checked that her tablet was mounted securely in the stand attached to the bedhead and clicked play on the video she had cued up. It was set in a continuous loop; it would automatically restart when it got to the end. Then she double- checked that the door to the hotel room was securely locked and put a chair up against it for added protection, once she started she would be unable to help herself in any way for about three hours.

The woman took a vibrator out of her suitcase; it was almost the exact same shape and size as her own penis. The crossdressed man’s anus was pre-lubricated and he slid the vibrator all the way inside himself and slipped the gusset of his panties back in place, he did not want it coming out.

The tall crossdresser lay on the bed and got comfortable, then flicked the switch to turn the vibrator to full power; he adjusted the tablet so that the screen was about twelve inches from his face. Then he put on the white satin and lace wedding veil and pulled it back so he could see the screen clearly.

“Perfect,” he said.

Now that he was comfortable and confident that he could see the screen of the tablet perfectly and the vibrator was snugly fitted, he picked up the syringe. Keeping his head still and his eyes locked on the screen, he plunged the needle into the vein in the crook of his arm which he’d previously tied off. He was just able to release the tourniquet before he felt the chemical take effect.

He was almost immediately paralysed. The only thing he could move was his eyes. He could feel everything, see everything but he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. He inhaled the orangey scent of the perfume.

He looked at the screen and watched himself lift Rhonda Stevens’ legs and plunge his cock into her. He watched himself fucking the helpless woman. He could see that on the screen he was enjoying himself immensely and now he honestly believed that he could feel what Rhonda was feeling; his big cock right up inside her.

The crossdresser was erect; the vibrator pressed on his prostate as he concentrated on the screen and imagined that he was Rhonda Stevens. He ejaculated after about thirty minutes; the feeling was amazing, unable to move but totally immersed in his bliss and concentrating on the pleasure of his intense orgasm.

Rhonda Stevens’ murderer figured he would be paralysed for at least another two hours and if he was lucky he would orgasm twice again, hopefully it would coincide with when he came inside Rhonda Steven on the screen. That would be nice, or maybe while he was kissing her, that was naughty but he couldn’t resist doing it.

*****

The composite sketch looked useless as far as Penelope was concerned. It looked like some generic guy, it looked like every good looking guy you had ever seen and it looked like no one you had ever seen, but at least they had tried.

“How are we going with forensics?” Silvia Bickle asked Penelope.

“Autopsy is in progress but the hair and fibre guys tell me that they found very little on the body and on the bed. The fingerprint guys said the same thing, no prints on the body or on the bed; plenty in the apartment but they will have to run them through IAFIS,” Penelope was sitting in her chair, her feet up on her desk sipping coffee.

“I’m hoping we get a hit on one of the prints but I’m not confident. No hairs or fibres, no prints at the actual murder site, the way she was dressed and displayed, I’m convinced that this is some kind of a fetish killer.”

“Well that’s all we can do for the day; I’m heading home. Sarah and I have a special evening planned,” Silvia picked up her purse off the desk.

“How long has it been now?” Penelope asked.

“Three months,” Silvia said proudly.

“Did Sarah bring a U-Haul to the first date?” Penelope asked and ducked when Silvia threw a stapler at her.

“Try to stay sober honey; and try not to fuck the first guy you run into at the Longhorn,” Silvia hefted her purse and turned towards corridor that led to the elevator.

“I’m going nowhere near the Longhorn. I have chores to take care of,” Penelope called after her, tracing her finger down the runner in her nylons.

Penelope went home and resisted the temptation of the single cold Lone Star calling to her from the refrigerator. She picked up all her laundry and filled all three machines in the basement then she went back upstairs and cleaned her apartment. She went down to the corner store and bought two bags of groceries, resisting the temptation to buy more booze. She bought half a dozen pairs of pantyhose and three pairs of hold-up stockings. She came back and put her groceries away, after ditching the two mouldy Tupperware containers, and went down to the basement and put her laundry in the dryers.

Feeling proud of herself Penelope took off her work clothes and jammed the suit into a laundry bag. She didn’t bother showering or changing her underwear, she just slipped into a skirt, blouse and heels. She picked up the overstuffed laundry bag and bundled it into her shitty old Mustang. The back seat was littered with candy wrappers, empty beer bottles, old newspapers, even a crunchy pair of pantyhose. She scooped it all up and dropped it in the trash.

“What a good girl you are Penelope,” she said to herself as she pulled up at the twenty-four hour drycleaners and dropped off three suits, two dresses and a couple of skirts.

Penelope was proud of herself. She had gotten her house in order and hadn’t taken a drink since breakfast. She had to drive past The Longhorn on the way home and her car seemed to drive itself into the parking lot.

The Longhorn was the city of Balwyn’s cop bar and even at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night there were plenty of drinkers, some were guys and gals who had just come off shift and some of the cops seemed to live there. Penelope pulled up her usual seat at the bar and a JD on ice and Lone Star chaser appeared miraculously in front of her. The bartender knew her almost better than Silvia did.

She raised her glass to a photo of her father, Charlie Bishop, hanging up on the wall behind the bar with a bunch of photos of other dead cops.

Her father was a legend in the Balwyn PD and was honoured and revered by most of the other cops, the white Anglo cops anyway, but Penelope knew better. She had solved his murder when she was still a rookie and had found out the truth. That he was a corrupt, philanderer and a racist who got killed by his own kind. But never let reality get in the way of hero-worship; she still felt like she walked in his shadow.

Further along the wall was a photograph of Sargent Randolph Cody who had been awarded the Police Medal of Valour. He had been her husband but their marriage had been falling apart long before he got killed by a hit and run driver whilst attending to a MVA. Penelope didn’t know why she felt responsible for his death but she did, even after all these years.

She ran her finger down the neck of the beer bottle following a bead of condensation when she became aware that someone was sitting beside her.

“Hi Mitch,” she said without looking up.

“Hi princess,” Mitch O’Donnell replied.

“Don’t call me that. You can call me Lieutenant, Ma’am, or call me Penelope when I’m off duty and that’s all,” She replied dryly.

“Even when I’m fucking you?” Mitch grinned.

“Well you aint fucking me tonight Mitch because I’m having this one drink and going home,” Penelope said forcefully.

“Sure you are princess,” Mitch chuckled.

Penelope and Mitch fell through the door of her apartment two hours later.

“God you get me hot woman,” Mitch pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

“Shut up and take to the bedroom, fuck me, and then let me sleep,” Penelope was drunk and tired.

Mitch kicked the door closed and picked up Penelope and put her over his shoulder.

“Put me down lunkhead, you’re drunker than I am,” Penelope kicked her legs and batted at him.

“Stop that missy!” Mitch paddled her butt with his free hand.

Her skirt had ridden right up and he had free access to her ass.

He walked her to the bedroom and threw her on the bed; they were both laughing uncontrollably.

Mitch quickly kicked off his boots and shucked out of his jeans and shirt; he was sporting a good size erection in his jockeys. Penelope unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it on the floor.

Penelope lifted her legs off the bed and took off her the high heels.

“You know I like to fuck you wearing high heels,” he helped her put them back on.

Mitch chuckled and reached for the hem of her skirt. Penelope had unzipped the side and the button on the waist and it slid down her legs and she tossed it aside.

“What the fuck are they!” Mitch pointed at her big white nylon granny panties.

Penelope blushed scarlet.

She put her fingers in the waistband to pull them down but Mitch jumped on the bed beside her and stopped her.

“Uh uh! You leave those puppies on I think they’re sexy,” Mitch stroked the front of her panties.

He kissed her passionately and she reached for his hard cock and stroked it, feeling the heft of it in her hand. Mitch kissed her harder as she worked her fingers up and down his cock; he reached for her breasts and tweaked her nipples bringing them to tumescence.

Penelope made another effort to take off her panties and once again Mitch stopped her.

“I really, really like them,” he teased her.

“Well they are going to have to come off when you fuck me,” Penelope laughed and kissed him again.

“Oh you know me better that that,” Mitch said and climbed on top of her and spread her legs.

He pressed his cock against her panties and began to thrust.

“Mmm that’s nice,” he grinned down at her.

“Let’s see,” Penelope put her hand inside the waistband of her panties and pantyhose and freed her semi-erect penis from between her buttocks.

Mitch rubbed his cock against hers through the double layer of nylon and they both groaned. It was nice.

Penelope wrapped her legs around him and they rutted against each other, kissing and moaning, Mitch sucked on her breasts for a while until Penelope pulled his lips back to hers.

She reached out awkwardly but she managed to open the drawer in her bedside table and her fingers found the tube of lubricant she kept there. She handed it to Mitch who stopped molesting her long enough to lubricate his penis.

“What now big boy? You finally going to let me take my panties off?” Penelope grinned up at him.

“Fuck no!” Mitch grinned back at her.

He thrust a hand inside the leg-hole of the granny panties and tore a hole in the gusset of her pantyhose and before she could do or say anything he fell on her and drove his cock into her anus.

“Oh god!” Penelope moaned.

She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him, holding him to her, whispering obscenities into his ear, encouraging him to fuck her.

Mitch had a decent size cock and it filled her anus nicely, evoking a gratifying tingling sensation from her sphincter and a deep throbbing delectation from her prostate.

Mitch felt her anus squeeze his cock, he’d fucked Penelope often enough to know that she could manipulate the muscles in her sphincter and her anus to evoke the most wondrous of sensations and she was doing so now. They kissed and caressed and scratched and moaned, grinding against each other, each seeking to slake their lust.

Finally the big cock thrusting in and out of her anus combined with the delicious feel of Mitch’s hard belly pressing on her nylon-swathed cock induced Penelope’s orgasm. She pulled Mitch hard against her and drummed her heels on his back as she came, writhing beneath him, kissing him so hard that their teeth clicked.

Her anus spasmed and wrested Mitch of his seed. He clung to her as he ejaculated, his cock buried deep inside her. He could feel the warm viscous nectar of Penelope’s semen soaking her panties, smearing on his belly.

They clung to each other until they were both drained; then Penelope pushed him off her.

“Can I stay the night?” Mitch asked sitting on the edge of the bed lighting a cigarette.

“Fuck no!” Penelope said through a yawn.

“Can I have those panties then?” he smiled cheekily at her.

“Fuck no!” she replied but she was smiling.

Mitch put his cigarette down and play-wrestled with her and eventually she gave up her panties.

“I’ll treasure them,” Mitch held them out and surveyed the large pair of underpants and laughed.

Penelope pulled up the covers and snuggled into the pillow.

“Fuck off Mitch. Go home to your wife. Lock the door on your way out,” she was annoyed by his antics and sleepy.

To be continued

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

Felicity Kendal burst through the front door with her two excited daughters right behind her. They had come home from church to find their father’s car parked in the driveway.

“Daddy!” the girls called out in chorus.

Michael Kendal rushed out of the kitchen where he had been waiting and hugged all three of them and kissed his wife.

“Hey; you girls wanna go and get yourselves some ice-cream or go see a movie?” Michael rummaged in his pocket and extracted a fifty dollar note.

“Sure dad but can we get changed first?” his youngest daughter of thirteen-years asked.

Michael snatched back the fifty.

“Nope, you go now in your church clothes or you can get changed and I’ll find you some chores to keep you busy,” he smirked at the girls.

The eldest, seventeen years old, snatched the money back.

“We’re outta here daddy,” she lifted up on her tippytoes and kissed his cheek.

She grabbed her sister by the wrist and pulled her outside.

“Be back by dinner or you’re grounded. And no boys!” Michael called through the door.

The girls heard the deadlock clunk when the door slammed shut.

“Did you see the boner he had!” the youngest girl giggled.

“Yuk! Don’t talk about dad’s boner. I can’t even think about mom and dad doing it,” the eldest laughed as they walked down the pathway.

“Every time he comes back from a trip he grabs mom and takes her up to their bedroom,” the youngest said.

The girls were both virgins but they knew all about sex. A lot of the kids at their school came from broken homes and even those kids whose parents were still together complained that their parents fought all the time. The girls were happy that their mom and dad loved each other and that they still had a healthy sex life which meant a happy marriage.

Michael Kendal grab-assed Felicity all the way up the stairs, running his hands up her nylon-sheathed legs and squeezing her buttocks.

“You want me to put on the special lingerie Mike?” Felicity was getting wet in anticipation.

“No time Fliss. I’m locked and loaded and on a hair trigger, we’ll do that later,” Michael guided her though the bedroom door impatiently.

He pushed his wife on the bed and leapt on top of her.

“You sure you don’t…” Felicity was silenced by his hand firmly grasping her chin.

“Shh. Lie still. You know what I like,” Michael was struggling to free his cock and Felicity suddenly got wetter.

She lay still beneath him with her hands by her side and her legs parted while Michael pushed her frock out of the way to get to her. He squeezed her thighs and then his hand found her sex. He tore open her pantyhose and pulled aside her panties and pushed his big hard cock deep inside her.

Felicity felt her husband’s big cock fill her vagina and he grunted as he rutted against her, his pubis rubbed on her clitoris and Felicity immediately orgasmed.

She knew to lie still and look up into Michael's eyes but she couldn’t hide the pleasure from him.

Michael could see the lust and satisfaction in his wife’s eyes. She was coming! She was having an orgasm whilst she lay still underneath him, not moving.

“Yes!” he hissed and ejaculated.

He was sure that he had seen the same look in Mary Whitehouse’s face when he fucked her the third time. He’d taken his time with her and massaged her clitoris with his fingertip while he fucked her and finally pressed his pubis on her vulva when he came and he was sure he had seen that exact same look. Mary might not have wanted to but she had orgasmed.

“Did you like that Felicity?” Michael stroked his wife’s face, a signal to her that she could move and talk.

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him and leaned up and kissed him.

“It was wonderful but these pantyhose are ruined and I’d better get out of this church frock,” she smiled up at him.

“Yes do that, and put on your special lingerie and high heels for me. Let’s do it properly this time, the makeup, the perfume the whole shebang,” he grinned down at her and she could feel him growing to full tumescence again inside her.

Finding a black wig similar to Mary Whitehouse’s hair style and colouring had been easy enough. Back at the hotel in Balwyn he’d gone through the ritual of slipping into the red lingerie and heels, putting on the makeup and wig, inserting the vibrator and lying on the bed staring at the tablet whilst immobilised.

It was satisfying, he’d enjoyed re-living the crime from Mary Whitehouse’s perspective, but he couldn’t see her eyes in the video he had taken of himself fucking her on her bed. He needed to figure out how to do that; maybe wear a GoPro on his head, yes that might just work!

The idea got him so hot that he’d raced home to fuck Felicity, to watch her eyes and see if he could tell if she orgasming just by looking at them.

Now he believed he could.

*****

Penelope went back to her apartment and quickly showered and punched up Silvia’s number on her phone and spoke to her on speaker while she put on her makeup and dressed. She noticed that her skirt was tight around her waist and remembered what the college kid and Silvia had said about her being fat.

“The Crime Scene guys and the medical examiner are at the scene right now; I’ve got a team going door to door, get down here as soon as you can, I’ll text you the address,” Silvia broke the connection.

Penelope could sense the tension in Silvia's voice. Technically it was still their day off but the obvious similarity of the murder to that of Rhonda Stevens tied the cases together and it had been assigned to them. If she had any decent clothes with her she would have gone straight to the crime scene but all she had were her skank clothes and she was not turning up dressed like that.

Once again she vowed to get her drinking under control and resisted the temptation of the vodka in the freezer on her way out the door.

The crime scene, on the outside at least, was different to the last one. This was a house in suburbia, a nice neighbourhood not an apartment in the city.

The victims were different too. Rhonda was a single cocktail waitress with no kids who could barely make ends meet but Mary Whitehouse was a divorced single mom with two kids who held down a well-paid job in the finance sector.

In Mary’s bedroom though, with the exception of the lingerie being red instead of white, the crime scene was identical.

“Let me guess, no sign of forced entry. No hairs and fibres and no fingerprints,” Penelope walked over and circled the bed.

Mary Whitehouse was arranged identically to Rhonda Stevens, she could have been sleeping except for the lewd pose. Her lingerie and heels were red but other than that everything was the same. Same makeup, same Poison perfume, same pose and Penelope noticed the glistening fluid in her vulva through the translucent panties.

“What do you think the chances are that the perp left his DNA inside her?” Penelope pointed to Mary’s crotch.

“I’d say it’s more likely to be llama or camel semen than it is to be from our guy,” Silvia grunted.

“This scene is even cleaner than the last one; every hard surface has been wiped down. My preliminary take is that we are going to find no hairs or fibres except those belonging to the victim,” Bob Tanner had joined them.

Penelope took a good look at Mary Whitehouse’s face. Her lipstick had been smudged and then reapplied.

“I think he kissed her, just like Rhonda Stevens. He kissed her then he put the lipstick back on her when he posed her,” Penelope said.

“Rhonda Stevens’ lips and mouth had been cleaned; oxygen-producing detergent had been used to clean her lips and sprayed into her mouth so any DNA was destroyed. Then he fixed her makeup putting foundation and powder around the area he’d cleaned and of course another coat of lipstick on her lips,” Brendan Scott chimed in.

“Ok everyone. Let’s not assume everything is the same as last time. Work the crime scene people,” Silvia Bickle clapped her hands but she was not optimistic.

*****

Penelope and Silvia sat in the Chief of Detectives office and gave him an update.

“The FBI field office in San Antonio is sending an agent,” Gary Rasmussen steepled his fingers.

“So the cavalry is coming,” Penelope said flippantly.

“Look. Technically you need to tie three murders together before anyone uses the word serial, but with these MOs, the fetishism, the pristine crime scenes. We’ve got us a serial killer. However if you use those words outside this office you’re fired,” the Chief said half-joking – half-serious.

“You guys can set up in syndicate room two. Keep the fucking door closed I don’t want any lookie-loos leaking to the press that we might have a serial killer.”

“This guy didn’t get this good on his first rodeo. You can bet he’s killed before or at least raped women before, using the same fetishic MO,” the Chief said.

“The FBI has far more resources that we do and they can search for similar crimes across the USA, so like it or not you guys are partnering up with whoever they send,” Gary Rasmussen said with finality.

The women got up to leave.

“One more thing. Close the door,” he said gravely.

Penelope closed the door.

“Look at this. It was sent to me by some guy named Zeke Dickinson the owner of a shithole called the Starlight Lounge,” Gary pointed to a video on his computer screen.

The CCTV footage showed Penelope out back of the Starlight Lounge talking to Zeke Dickinson who offered her a flask. Penelope looked around quickly and snatched it off him and took a long pull and then handed it back.

Penelope became lightheaded and had to sit down.

“Asshole!” Silvia hissed.

“Yeah right Silvia, Zeke Dickinson is an asshole. But now he has something on one of my best, hang on let me rephrase that, someone who used to be one of my best detectives.”

“Penelope, your FITREPS have been steadily declining, you’re tardy, you’re sloppy and I hate to say this because it sounds sexist, but you’re getting fat and you look like shit most of the time. Your sympathy card is stamped null and void Penelope. We all know you’ve been through a lot but it’s time to buck up or fuck off.”

Penelope’s head was bowed and she was crying. Silvia was about to interject but Gary Rasmussen shut her down.

“Don’t you start on me Silvia! You’re enabling her. Stop being her friend and start being her partner. If she’s drinking on the job she’s liable to get you killed one day,” Gary was red-faced.

“Penelope. I respected your dad; he did a lot of good things for this PD before he died and Randolph Cody was the best street cop I’ve seen, but that’s over and done with. Get over it or get out of Balwyn PD.”

“You’re gonna sign this Final Warning, acknowledging that you are on probation and one fuck up is going to get your ass fired,” Gary slid a sheet a piece of paper across his desk.

“Silvia. You witness it and if you really are her friend you come to me if she takes another drink on the job so I can fire her. That way she knows she’s on a short leash. If she drinks and you know about it and don’t report it, I’ll put you back in a skirt and have you filing traffic reports,” the Chief said earnestly.

Penelope signed the document and they both left the Chief’s office feeling cowed.

Penelope was still crying and Silvia bundled her into the stairwell.

“You listen to me Penny. There ain’t no way this black lesbian is wearing that little skirt again just so white boys can check out her legs and her fanny, which I might add are remarkable.”

Despite the changes that had been made to the Balwyn PD after the corruption scandal, the 1970’s era uniform had not. There was a lot of tradition and sentimentality attached to it and when a vote was taken, the overwhelming majority elected to keep the old-style uniforms. The uniform was now made from modern fabrics and quite comfortable, but women police officers were still required to wear skirts and hosiery unless they were actually on the beat.

“So you gotta quit drinking right now. I’ll help you any way I can but it’s down to you ok?” Silvia said.

Penelope nodded and Silvia pulled her into her arms and held her while she sobbed. She kissed Penelope’s cheek and pushed her out to arm’s length.

“You know I love you girl but this is on you ok?” Silvia said earnestly.

Penelope nodded.

“Go and fix your face you look like a panda. Go home, get some rest and we start again tomorrow ok?” Silvia smiled.

Penelope nodded again.

“And no drinking!” Silvia added.

“I get it. No drinking,” Penelope slunk away and went home.

The next day she got up early and squeezed into her PT gear.

“Thank fuck for spandex,” she said as she pulled her tights up over her belly.

Penelope ran until she puked. She drank some water and ran again until she puked some more. She forced herself to do ten miles.

She didn’t want breakfast but she forced herself to eat some yoghurt and fruit and drink a glass of OJ. Pouring the juice she thought about the vodka in the freezer and she pulled the bottle out and drained it down the sink. She found every bottle of booze in the house and poured them away too.

“Day one,” Penelope smiled as she got into the elevator but her stomach hurt, her legs ached and she was jonesing for a drink.

“Well look at you all fresh-faced and looking good,” Silvia said to Penelope when she got in the car.

They drove to Police Plaza and moved into syndicate room two. Silvia reviewed the soft-copy case file held in the database while Penelope worked on her whiteboard, adjusting the timelines, affixing crime scene photographs, autopsy reports, victim profiles, maps, and lists of persons who had been interviewed.

It looked impressive but the cold hard fact was that the crimes were far from being solved. The two detectives were trying their hardest to have their evidence laid out as best they could before the FBI Profiler arrived.

“I’m Special Agent Bradley Wilson,” the FBI profiler introduced himself thirty minutes later.

“Are you on the FBI recruiting poster honey?” Silvia Bickle couldn’t help herself.

Bradley Wilson was around six feet tall, handsome, toned, had perfectly styled collar-length black hair and wore the FBI regulation dark suit, dazzling crisp white shirt and polished black shoes.

“I’m Lieutenant Silvia Bickle and I’ll let you know that I’m a lesbian but if I was ever going to change teams it would be someone like you who turned me,” she grinned and shook his hand.

“Don’t worry about her; she can’t help herself,” Penelope stuck out her hand.

“I’m Lieutenant Penelope Bishop,” she found his bright smile overpowering without a drink to steady her nerves.

“Nice to meet you both; where can I set up shop?” he pointed to a large suitcase he had propped in the doorway.

“Bring it in and take that desk over there. Close the door please we are trying to keep this on the down-low,” Penelope pointed to a desk she had allocated to the agent.

Bradley Wilson carried in his suitcase and started to unpack.

“I like your whiteboard,” he commented, stopping briefly to look at Penelope’s handiwork.

“Are you mocking me Agent Wilson?” Penelope said harshly.

“Oh no Lieutenant Bishop. I’m a fan of having the crime laid on a whiteboard like that; it provides me with instant visual references. Databases have their place, especially when you are searching through a myriad of documents, but the good old analogue methods still have a lot to offer,” Bradley gave Penelope a conciliatory smile.

Penelope just scowled at him.

“Look I’m not here to take over your case; I’m here to work with you guys, be part of the team so to speak. We all have our own strengths and I’m a good profiler, I’d like us all to have a good working relationship,” Bradley gave them both his best smile.

“Don’t worry about Bishop; she’s just sore because she got her ass chewed out yesterday, that’s all,” Silvia said.

Penelope gave Silvia a murderous look and then went back to what she was doing.

“Look with all the information that you already sent to Quantico I was able to start running a profile on your perpetrator. Let me get this set up and I’ll walk you through what I have,” Bradley said attempting to break the tension.

He set up a laptop and fiddled with it for a while, the FBI logo appeared on the screen and then he logged in and began manipulating a few files.

“This is what I have,” he began

“I’ve assimilated everything we have so far and I have classified our perp as ‘Organised’.”

“Organized murderers have advanced social skills, plan their crimes, display control over the victim using those social skills, leave little forensic evidence or clues, and often engage in sexual acts with the victim before the murder,” he explained.

“That’s our guy down to tee,” Silvia nodded her head.

“Based on the behavioural sequence and this guy’s signatures I have a rough profile already,” Bradley sent a document to a printer.

“Wait… behavioural what and signature who?” Penelope interjected.

“The offender's ‘signature’ is identifiable from the crime scene and is more idiosyncratic than the modus operandi — the signature is what the offender does to satisfy his psychological needs in committing the crime.”

“This offender’s behavioural sequence, or MO, is to stalk and attack single, middle aged women in their homes and kill them after assaulting them. He keeps the crime scene almost pristine leaving no trace evidence.”

“His signature is to dress them in lingerie, make them up a certain way, spray them with a specific perfume and keep them paralysed but lucid during the assault,” Bradley Wilson pointed to the crime scene photos on the whiteboard.

“That makes sense,” Silvia put her hands on her hips and nodded.

“And?” Penelope was not as magnanimous as Silvia.

Bradley took the sheet of paper out of the printer and read from it.

“Look it’s early days and we will keep updating the profile as we get more evidence but my supposition is this:”

“Married white male, late thirties – early forties, middle-class well paid professional who travels for work, college educated and works in the pharmaceutical or medical field, controlling – likely keeps firm control over his wife and any children, presents a pleasant disposition, is charming, and is likely good looking.”

“How does that sound?” he looked at Penelope and then at Silvia.

“You just pretty much parroted what we already knew,” Penelope said.

“Be fair Penny, we never really articulated that way,” Silvia gave Penelope a withering glare.

She only ever called Penelope Penny when she was angry with her.

“Ok. So what next?” Penelope asked.

“We run what we have through the criminal databases and see if we can find subjects that match our profile or crimes that match our perp’s signature,” Bradley said.

“And then lunch,” he grinned.

“Lunch?” Penelope looked perplexed.

“I’ve been on the road since five thirty this morning and I haven’t eaten. It’s going to take a while for this thing to crunch those ones and zeros so let’s go get some lunch after we’ve set the machine in motion. I bet you know a good place to eat?” he smiled a Penelope.

“Are you calling me fat?” Penelope snapped back.

“No. I’m sorry… I just meant that you are a local so you’d know a good restaurant,” Bradley apologised.

“That makes sense,” Penelope mimicked Silvia’s response to Bradley’s hypothesis, mocking her

“Teacher’s pet,” Penelope stuck out her tongue.

“What’s got into girl? Are we in high school now?” Silvia looked angrily at Penelope.

Bradley Wilson was taking a restroom stop before they headed out for lunch.

“I thought you were an angry bitch when you drank, you’re downright ornery sober,” Silvia snatched up the keys to their work vehicle and Penelope followed.

Penelope had a salad for lunch which she hated and ate self-consciously while Silvia and Bradley ate burgers and fries.

“I read up on you both before I came here. Silvia, I know that you transferred in from Houston a while ago but Penelope, you and your family have real history here,” Bradley attempted to break the ice.

“Yeah but bad history,” Penelope munched lettuce and took a sip of water.

“I find it amazing that you solved your own father’s murder and because of you, Balwyn PD got shook up and overhauled for the better,” Bradley said.

“It got shook up alright, I shot the Police Chief to death,” Penelope snorted.

“In self-defence and exposed the deep seated corruption and discrimination,’ Bradley continued.

Penelope dropped her knife and fork beside her plate.

“If you think this history lesson is somehow going to ingratiate yourself with me forget it.”

“And that isn’t the whole story; I’m no heroine. You left out the part where as well as being a cop killer I’m also a transgender alcoholic tramp. I drink too much and I fooled around on my husband who was a good man, I drove him to the point where he gave up on me and immersed himself in his work and because of me he died alone on a lonely highway, killed by a hit and run,” Penelope lamented.

The table went deathly quiet.

“You could lose a few pounds too if you want complete honesty,” Silvia needled Penelope to break the solemnness.

Penelope couldn’t help smiling. She reached across the table and squeezed Silvia’s hand briefly.

“Yeah… and I could lose a few,” she smiled grimly.

When they got back to Police Plaza the database search had identified over one hundred possible matches to their killer’s profile and crimes that possibly matched his signatures.

“What now?” Silvia asked.

“Good old fashioned policework. We divide them up and work through them one at a time and sort them into what we think could be credible matches to our perp’s MO and signatures. Those we think aren’t credible, we ditch. Then we delve deeper into the credibles,” Bradley took off his jacket and hung it up.

“Shall we get working?” Bradley smiled and started distributing case files.

It was a long afternoon and Silvia noticed Bradley yawning repeatedly as it got late.

“Ok. You’re bushed and we know that when we get tired we make mistakes so I’m calling it quitting time. We’ll meet here again tomorrow and get stuck in ok?” Penelope and Bradley agreed.

Penelope was determined to go for another run, even though her legs were aching. If nothing else it would take her mind off booze and tire her out so she could sleep. She slipped back into her tights, sports top and running shoes.

Penelope was on her third lap of Balwyn City Park when Bradley Wilson jogged up beside her.

“Want a running partner?” he grinned at her.

It was cool in the evening and Bradley was wearing cross-fit leggings and matching long sleeve top, his well-toned body only made Penelope more self-conscious of her own physique.

“I doubt I could keep up,” Penelope replied, deliberately looking ahead at the walking track.

“I can match your pace, be your running buddy. I can push you a little and then ease off when I see you are at maximum endurance or need to slow down,” Bradley countered.

“No thanks,” Penelope said brusquely.

“Oh come on, it’s always better to train with someone else,” Bradley perused the matter.

Penelope stopped running and stood still with her hands on her hips panting a little.

“Why are you pestering me?” she barked.

“Pestering?” Bradley stopped too but kept running on the spot.

“You tell me my family history, tell me I’m some kind of heroine, you wanna be my running buddy; you don’t even know me so why do you wanna buddy up to me?” Penelope asked.

“Because I want to get to know you,” Bradley gave her a grin that would melt any girl’s heart.

“What are looking for; to put a freak on your scoreboard? Fuck the tranny cop?” Penelope hissed.

Bradley’s face went from smile to frown; he looked genuinely hurt.

“You think I’m that guy?” Bradley was incredulous.

“I’m sorry. I’m the guy who volunteered to come to Balwyn because I wanted to work with you. I read about what you did when you were still a rookie and the profound affect you had on the PD here.”

“I read up on your achievements since. An excellent street cop who climbed through the ranks doing honest policework. Made detective and worked Vice and then Homicide. Has one of the highest homicide cleanup rates in all of Texas law enforcement; this despite the tragedies in her life,” Bradley had stopped running and shook his head.

“And yes I do think you are beautiful, despite how you put yourself down. Do I want to date you? Possibly; but it would just be dinner and maybe a movie but I can take a hint.” he started jogging on the spot again.

“I’ll keep it professional and if you want you can call the San Antonio Field Office tomorrow and have me replaced I won’t object. Enjoy your run Penelope; see you tomorrow,” Bradley turned and ran away.

Penelope turned around and ran in the opposite direction, running hard until she was physically sick and had a stitch. She walked home holding her side. She used the toilet, showered and brushed her teeth. She looked at herself critically.

She still had good bone structure and her face was still attractive even if she did have the beginnings of a little double chin. Her once long blonde hair was cut shorter, now shoulder length and desperately in need of a do. Her best feature, her captivating green eyes, still sparkled.

Penelope had shaved her legs and they were still in good shape, as were her 34B breasts, except for her small pot-belly and a little ass-sag, she still looked good. Yes she looked tired but she was already feeling better after just one day off the booze.

Bradley Wilson was still dressed in the hotel-provided bathrobe and about to order room service when his doorbell rang. He looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Penelope standing there. He opened the door.

“I’m an asshole,” she said.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Bradley didn’t invite her in.

Penelope was a little stumped at being left standing in the doorway dressed in her evening coat.

“And I’d like to apologise. Please don’t go back to San Antonio, your work today was insightful and I was churlish about it; probably a little jealous if I’m honest.”

“And?” Bradley kept his hand on the door.

“And, I am an idiot not to accept your compliments so thank you and once again I apologise,” Penelope couldn’t look him in the eye.

“And?” Bradley hid his smile from her and kept the door barred.

“And if you wanted to buy me dinner sometime, I’d reconsider the invitation,” Penelope looked up.

“But you accused me of being a man who just wanted to bed you, to put a notch on my headboard,” Bradley replied.

“Ok, I’m really sorry I said that,” Penelope shuffled her feet.

“Is that all?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah… I guess that’s all,” Penelope mumbled.

“Ok. Bye,” Bradley closed the door.

Penelope sighed and turned to walk away.

Bradley flung the door open and pulled Penelope inside, slamming it behind her.

He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down.

Penelope blushed and tried to look away but Bradley put his fingers on her chin and gently lifted her face.

“You are beautiful,” he sighed.

“Even with my little pot belly,” Penelope blushed.

“I love your little pot belly,” Bradley grinned.

“Can I kiss you?” he stared into her emerald green eyes.

“Can I just offer just one criticism of you?” Penelope whispered.

Bradley nodded.

“Sometimes you are too polite,” Penelope leaned forward and placed her lips on his.

Bradley folded her into his arms and kissed her. Penelope put her arms around him and opened her mouth a little and sent the tip of her tongue exploring and Bradley reciprocated, holding her tighter.

“You're dressed in a bathrobe,” she said breathlessly when they finally broke the kiss.

“And you still have your coat on,” Bradley helped Penelope out of her heavy coat and folded it over a chair.

Penelope was wearing a little black A-line skirt, a red silk blouse, sheer black stockings and heels. She had accessorised a little in anticipation that Bradley might want to take her to dinner.

“You do look great,” he smiled at her.

“I think you are over-complimenting me,” Penelope blushed.

Bradley pulled her back into his arms and kissed her.

“I find you fascinating,” he grinned.

“I have to ask. Is it because I’m transgender,” Penelope looked a little concerned.

“I would be lying if I said no, but that just adds to your mystique. I consider you a rare and unique beauty who is in need further exploration, if I may be so bold as to use that analogy.”

“Is that too forward?” he asked.

“And how do you intend to go about exploring my rare and unique beauty?” Penelope said coyly.

“I intend to get dressed and take you to dinner and have an insightful conversation with you and hang off every word you say to show how fascinated I am with you.”

“If the date goes well and you decide I am worthy I intend to ask you out again and to continue to court you until I can convince you that my intentions are honourable,” Bradley replied.

“So are you asking me out on a date right now?” Penelope teased him.

“You didn’t come here dressed like that just to apologise. You could have come here still dressed in your jogging clothes to do that, although I don’t mind adding that seeing you in your leggings and tight sports top was quite a delight,” he grinned.

“Ok. Now you really are exaggerating. Let’s just say I’ve said yes to dinner,” Penelope capitulated.

“Ok. Let me go and get dressed; apparently the restaurant here is pretty good,” Bradley kissed her cheek and retired to the bedroom.

Bradley disrobed and didn’t hear Penelope slink into the bedroom behind him, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting.

Penelope pressed herself against his bare warm flesh and whispered in his ear.

“I’m nearly forty; I don’t have time for the teenage crush phase of a relationship.”

“How do you know I’m ready to go any further than dating just yet?” he replied.

“This is a good indication,” Penelope reached around and squeezed his erect penis.

Bradley groaned.

He turned around and took Penelope in his arms and kissed her. This time she opened her mouth immediately so they could tongue-kiss. Penelope continued to squeeze his cock and it grew to full tumescence in her hand.

Bradley led Penelope to the bed and lay her down and scooted up close to her. He kissed her softly and his hands began to explore her body. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse and unclasped her brassiere and then he stroked her breasts, his fingers caressing the tender flesh and her enlarged nipples. He noticed the fading bruises on her alabaster skin but said nothing.

Bradley lowered his face to her bosom and spent some time using his mouth on her breasts, kissing and licking her areola and then moving on to her nipples. Penelope guided his head where she needed it while she slowly stroked his hard cock, milking little jewels of pre-ejaculate which she rubbed into his sensitive flesh.

“Can I undress you?” Bradley sighed.

“Remember the one criticism I had of you sometimes being too polite?” Penelope whispered.

Penelope raised herself up so Bradley could remove her blouse and brassiere, than he helped her slip out of her skirt. She was wearing red satin full-cut bikini panties, her black stockings were hold-ups and at this stage he had no intention of removing either.

He lowered his face to her belly and kissed the pale flesh. Penelope was self-conscious and tried to move his face from there but he resisted and continued to kiss and caress her there with his lips and tongue. Eventually he moved down to her hips and then to her thighs, using his mouth while his hands fondled her breasts.

Penelope was uncomfortably tumescent and needed to free her erect penis from between her legs and was about to do so when Bradley moved his mouth down to her panties. He licked the front of them and slipped his fingers inside and found the tape holding her tucked penis and scrotum in place.

He tore it off and Penelope winced but she sighed when her bloated penis sprang free and her testes descended. Bradley stroked her hardened phallus through the red satin and smiled when he saw a little wet patch darken the fabric.

Penelope indicated that she wanted him to lie top to tail with her and when he shifted position she took him in her mouth and began to suckle his hard cock. Bradley gasped and eased Penelope's cock out of the leg-hole of her panties and reciprocated, using his lips and tongue to good effect.

Penelope removed his cock from her mouth briefly.

“This is not your first rodeo is it cowboy?” Penelope sighed.

“My last girlfriend was transgender. How am I doing do far?” he chuckled.

“Less talking, more fellatio,” Penelope guided his penis back to her mouth.

Bradley returned to licking, kissing and sucking Penelope’s penis, swallowing her pre-cum as the delightful little gobbets oozed from her glans. Penelope was enjoying working on Bradley’s cock with her mouth but she was close to climax and she wanted him inside her.

Bradley got the message and changed position, lifting her legs up high and kneeling between them. He rubbed his face on her nylon-sheathed calves and kissed her ankles, knowing that she was impatient and deliberately drawing out the consummation of their passion.

He eased aside the gusset of her panties and saw the tell-tale gleam of lubricant around her puckered sphincter. She was pre-lubricated.

“So you just came here to apologise but you decided to lubricate your anus just in case,” he needled her, smiling down at her, his eyes filled with lust.

“We can always stop now if you don’t want to…” Penelope didn’t finish her response because Bradley pushed his glans inside her sphincter.

“Oh dear,” Penelope sighed looking up at him, her vivid green eyes sparkling with passion.

“Is that ok?” Bradley looked down at her with a concerned look.

“Too polite, remember?” Penelope opened her legs and pushed up, slowly impaling herself on his hard rod.

They both moaned and then Bradley fell on her, kissing her while he rutted; fucking her hard and fast.

Penelope closed her legs around him and held him close, rising to meet his thrusts, encouraging him. His cock was long and thick and he knew how to use it, driving it deep inside Penelope and stimulating her prostate. They kissed and fucked with fervour, both working hard to climax. Penelope used her sphincter and anal muscles to squeeze Bradley's cock and she heard him gasp and felt his cock quiver inside her.

She pushed her belly up so that her cock was rubbing on his hard flesh through her panties.

When Bradley filled her with his hot seed she came with him, her own semen flooding her panties and smearing Bradley’s belly.

They fucked hard, wresting every scintilla of pleasure from each other, kissing and pawing at each other, Penelope raking her high heels on his flanks, like she was riding a stallion.

Bradley lay on top of Penelope exhausted and she lay beneath him panting.

When Bradley finally regained control of his breathing he started to kiss her all over again.

“What about dinner?” Penelope asked.

“Fuck dinner! Is that impolite enough for you?” he lowered his face to her breasts.

Penelope giggled like a girl. She realised that for the first time in a long time she was actually making love, not just fucking to forget.

To be continued

“Why Equine semen?” Silvia stared at the screen.

“What?” Penelope turned away from her whiteboard and looked at Silvia.

“Horse semen. He put horse semen in her this time,” Silva sighed.

“Ok that might not help identify our perpetrator but it adds more data to his signature. As you know, some serial killers like to engage with law enforcement or the media. Needling them or making demands or just boasting,” Bradley Wilson piped in from where he was sitting at his desk, reviewing cases.

“The Zodiac Killer in California is a perfect example.”

“Yeah… and they never caught him,” Penelope said.

“Ok, so once again we have nothing. No hairs, fibres, DNA, and no witnesses. We know that Mary Whitehouse was last seen at the Fox and Firkin and that she was approached by several men but we have her on CCTV leaving alone,” Bradley chewed his pen.

“We have officers out there identifying the men who approached her in the bar, those who used credit cards we’ve identified and interviewed and ruled out.”

“Let’s look at the evidence we do have,” Bradley handed over to Penelope.

“The lingerie isn’t exclusive to any particular store. The white lingerie we found on Rhonda Stevens is sold at Victoria’s Secret but there are dozens of stores in Texas alone and he may have bought it interstate or online.”

“The red lingerie we found on Mary Whitehouse is not exclusive to any particular store. We’ve canvassed all the lingerie stores in Balwyn and drawn a blank,” Penelope said.

“Once Bradley developed the profile on this guy and we had an idea how he thinks, I figured that this guy would be way too smart to buy any of his requisites anywhere near where he commits his crimes.”

“Same with the shoes. They come from the Shoes For Less retail chain and can be bought anywhere in the USA. They target low income earners and specialise in offering larger sizes.”

“The makeup he put on the victims can be purchased anywhere and the Poison perfume he likes is in every drug and department store, so nothing there.”

“Straws of animal semen are freely available. There are rigorous protocols to handle, store, and use it properly but our guy doesn’t care about that. None of the sperm were motive; he just uses the semen to taunt us is my guess, it’s not part of his fetish.”

“I agree,” Bradley piped in.

Silvia noticed that the animosity that Penelope had for Bradley Wilson had quickly dissipated over the two weeks they had been working together and in fact they seemed very friendly. She couldn’t help wondering if something was going on there but had refrained from asking Penelope because whatever Penelope was doing was working. She hadn’t had drink, she was looking after herself, dressing better and had even had her hair done. She was working a lot better too.

“Mary’s online activity was pretty much confined to her employment, she wasn't on Facebook and wasn’t on any dating sites. Her phone records are equally mundane and of little help,” Penelope said.

It was Bradley’s turn to speak.

“Our perpetrator’s signature is not as unique as you’d think. A guy named Jerry Brudos was one of the first serial killers with this signature and active in the late sixties when profiling was still in its infancy.”

“His mother had wanted a girl and was very displeased that she had another son instead. She would also constantly belittle him and treat him with disdain, as well as physically abuse him.”

“He developed a fetish for women's shoes and women's underwear. He began to stalk local women, knocking them down or choking them unconscious, and fleeing with their shoes.”

“At age seventeen, he abducted and beat a young woman, threatening to stab her if she did not follow his sexual demands. He married a seventeen-year-old girl and fathered two children, and insisted that his wife do housework naked except for a pair of high heels while he took pictures. He kept the shoes and underwear he had acquired in a garage that he would not allow his wife to enter without first announcing her arrival on an intercom.”

“He made his victims wear the lingerie, underwear and high heels that he had collected. He killed four that we know of and attempted to abduct who knows how many more.”

“Psychiatrists found that his sexual fantasies revolved around his hatred and revenge against his mother and women in general,” Bradley finished reading from a file.

“Does that sound like our guy?” Bradley seemed pleased with himself.

“And there were there others with similar signatures?” Silvia asked.

“Not were… are. The FBI estimates that there are between twenty-five and fifty serial killers operating throughout the U.S. at any given time and many of the organised serial killers are fetishic about underwear and shoes,” Bradley replied.

“So how does that help us?” Silvia asked.

“It’s almost certain that he didn’t start out like he is now presenting. He’s planned these murders for a long time but he started out when he was younger attacking women, likely forcing them to wear specific underwear and high heels or they were wearing them and it attracted him to them.”

“My educated guess is that he started out using hookers for convenience. But that doesn’t account for the controlling part of his fetish; his need to overwhelm the women and have his victim helpless and incapacitated. I bet he started tying some of them up, maybe even practicing on them with various chemicals,” Bradley proposed.

“So you think our guy is a mommy’s boy but hated his mother. Is it possible he also dresses in lingerie or ladies clothes?” Penelope asked.

“Oh that’s almost certain. I’m surprised he doesn’t take some of his victims clothing with him as a talisman but this guy is too smart to be caught with anything that would tie him to the crime,” Barry answered.

“But isn’t the profile confusing? He’s a mommy's boy who likes to wear panties, nylons and heels but he’s controlling and capable of cold-blooded murder,” Silvia scratched her head.

“You’ve seen the movie Psycho right?” Bradley countered.

“I might have something here,” Silvia changed tack.

“A women in her middle thirties claims she was abducted by a man in Austin and held for over twelve hours. The man had her change into lingerie, stockings and high heels that he had bought to the crime scene and repeatedly assaulted her over the time period. He made her touch up her makeup between attacks and he was very specific about how she applied the makeup.”

“He wore a stocking over his head to mask his appearance, latex gloves, and wore a condom during the attacks. He made her lie perfectly still while he was assaulting her and told her to look him in the eyes.”

“The perp made her shower repeatedly after the attack and supervised her doing so to ensure he left no trace evidence. He was described as tall and well built,” Silvia read from her screen.

“The case notes in the file state that the woman has a history of solicitation convictions starting from her teens when she worked for a high class escort agency, to her twenties when she worked the local bars and hotels, to the most recent conviction where she was arrested street walking in one of less salubrious neighbourhoods.”

“The complaint probably wouldn’t have been investigated except that the detective assigned to the case was a woman who believed the complainant. The case notes state that the detective suspected that other women had been abducted and suffered the same fate but had not come forward, either because they too were prostitutes or they were too ashamed.”

“When was this?” Bradley asked.

“Two years ago. Could this be our guy?” Silvia asked.

“It could well be; let’s get the detective on the phone,” Bradley sounded excited by the lead.

Over coffee, Bradley told Penelope and Silvia what she had gleaned from Sharon Patton, the detective who had interviewed the prostitute they now knew as Kimberley Morris.

“I have a feeling about this guy. Sure, I like the structure and scientific approach of profiling but I’m still basically a cop and I have to trust my instincts,” Bradley said.

“I think this is our guy practicing for his ultimate thrill. There are significant attributes that relate to our guy. The general description of the perpetrator, although I don’t put too much stock in that, but the lingerie and high heels and the repeated sustained assaults are indicators. Making her lie still and not talk, the makeup – he was very specific about her makeup and of course his obsession with leaving no trace evidence.”

“I’d like to go to Austin and interview Detective Patton and possibly Kimberley Morris,” Bradley tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Good idea and take Penelope with you; it would be good to get a woman’s perspective, also, you two seem to make a good team,” Silvia’s eyes twinkled over her coffee cup.

Penelope blushed.

“This Detective Patton; is she good at her job?” Silvia asked.

Bradley nodded.

“More importantly, does she have a good ass?” Silvia quipped.

Bradley choked on his coffee and Penelope was stunned.

“I’m just joking you morons, trying to break the tension,” Silvia grinned.

“If I’d said that I’d likely get fired,” Bradley said.

“Yeah we have come a long way in the Balwyn PD. Men get reprimanded for inappropriate behaviour, but sexy black lesbians like me can be as imprudent as they want,” Silvia smiled cheekily.

“Now should I book two hotel rooms for you in Austin or just one?” her smile widened.

It was Bradley's turn to blush.

*****

“Michael! Mommy’s home,” Livia Kendal screeched up the stairs.

Michael pulled the comforter tightly around him and prayed his mother would go to her own room.

He had no such luck. He could smell her perfume even before he heard her enter his room. The brand was Christian Dior’s Poison, and his mother seemed to drench herself in it.

“How’s my pretty little Michael? Are you wearing your pretty little things?” his mother crept onto the bed and began to crawl towards him.

Livia Kendal made no secret that when Michael was born she really wanted a girl and was bitterly disappointed when she gave birth to a son. She’d even bought girl’s baby clothes and dressed Michael in them; not that he had any recollection of course.

But as a child his mother would dress him like girl up and even put makeup on him while his father was away. His father was a weak willed man devoted to Livia but her endless affairs and infidelity eventually took its toll on their marriage and he moved out leaving Michael alone with her.

Livia lied to Michael, telling him that giving birth to him had caused her injuries that prevented her from having any more children and that she really wished he had been born a girl. She was domineering, controlling every aspect of his life. She kept him isolated and friendless and so he became perversely ingratiated and devoted to her whilst at the same time, deeply afraid of her.

When they were home alone he became the girl that his mother wanted.

He developed an obsession for women’s clothing as he grew older. His mother wore vintage lingerie; lots of satin and silk, bustiers and corsets, fully-fashioned-stockings and spiky high heels. Michael came to realise that his mother was supplementing her income by bringing men home and having them pay her for sex. He would listen to the moans and groans through the thin walls of a succession of bedrooms as they moved from town to town.

Michael would dress up in lingerie and stockings and put on his mother’s makeup and lie in bed, hating what the man in the next room was doing to his mother but at the same time wishing it was him doing it to her.

His mother’s good looks faded quickly as she became more addicted to alcohol and drugs and her behaviour to him became more inappropriate and indecent. She didn’t begin to molest him until he was of legal age, but they both knew there was no real legal age for incest.

Livia burst into his room one day and caught him dressed in a satin bra and panties, garter belt, stockings and high heels. He was lying on the bed with a stocking draped over his erect penis and was slowly stroking it.

“Oh my pretty, let me help you with that,” she sat on the bed as he lay there mortified.

“Don’t be scared honey, let mommy take care of it,” she whispered through her bright-red lipsticked lips.

She wrapped her fingers around her son’s throbbing flesh encased in the sheer nylon stocking and moved them up and down. Livia had deliberately let her dress ride up and smiled when she saw Michael was staring at her panty-clad mound.

Gobbets of hot semen seeped through the nylon stocking as Michael orgasmed. His mother milked him dry, patted him on the head and left the room.

But that was only the start. Livia began sleeping with her son while he was attending college. Returning from her late night excursions to the local bars and hangouts, if she hadn’t picked up a man Michael was required to perform what she called husbandly duties.

Sometimes he’d be dressed in his lingerie, sometimes he wouldn’t be, she didn’t seem to care. If he pretended to be asleep, which he often did, it made no difference. She would bring him to full tumescence and use his cock to satisfy herself. It became a ritual. He would lie on his back pretending to be asleep and she would mount him, usually still dressed in her lingerie and stockings. He’d stare at her through lidded eyes and lie still while she pleasured herself and inevitably he would orgasm.

Finally Michael reversed the roles. He’d wait for his mother to pass out and remove her outer garments and lay her on the bed in her lingerie and heels and molest her. He’d fuck her and if she woke up she’d just lie there quietly and let him.

Michael accidentally killed his mother just after he received his Bachelor of Science in Pharmaceutical Sciences. He was experimenting on her by then, dosing her with different concoctions, trying to find the perfect blend of chemicals that would immediately incapacitate her. The concoction of recreational drugs and alcohol in Livia’s system was listed as the cause of death and Michael was never suspected.

At the time, Michael was dating Felicity and they married soon after Livia’s death and she bore him two daughters. He never told Felicity about the incestual relationship with his mother, and his busy work schedule and family commitments with Felicity and the girls calmed his primal urges. But the hate he felt against women, particularly his mother still festered deep inside. After a while he couldn’t resist the compulsion and he began to steal underwear and high heels, wearing them secretly in his workroom where no one was allowed without his express permission. He would slip into the garments and masturbate, having sprayed himself with Poison. Knowing the garments had been worn against the most intimate places of the women he stole them from was very satisfying.

But he couldn’t keep his urges under control. Michael sought out mature prostitutes who had similar features to his mother. He paid them to wear retro lingerie, stockings and heels and to lie perfectly still and remain silent while he fucked them. It satisfied his needs for some time. He would later slip into the lingerie he had paid the hookers to wear and masturbate.

Michael was very controlling and overprotective of his wife and daughters. Felicity had to account for every penny she spent and every minute of her day. She had to dress the way he liked her to, which she found to be very old fashioned but she was devoted to her husband and it made him happy, so what the hey? The few friends she had, thought she might be one of those women who were into the retro look.

When Michael asked her to wear the retro lingerie, stockings and heels to bed she didn’t question him, even when he told her to lie still and keep silent until he had orgasmed. It gave her a perverse sense of power somehow, knowing he craved her that way, she started to like it.

Michael knew that paying prostitutes to do the things he wanted them to do was dangerous. Plenty of Johns wanted hookers to wear stockings and heels, they didn’t blink at that, but being asked to basically lie there like a corpse was too much like something from the Ted Bundy movie. He knew that one day he was going to kill a woman, he fantasised about it; it was his ultimate dream.

He started abducting the prostitutes and forcing them to do those things. The abduction and control became as important to him as the clothes he made them wear. He wore a disguise and took precautions not to leave any trace evidence at the scene; he left each of them a significant amount of cash in the hopes that they wouldn’t report the crime. Most didn’t. Michael's employment as a pharmaceutical representative took him on the road and he was able to seek out victims who met his strict criteria: mature-aged, good looking women with nice legs and asses just like his mother.

Michael perfected his concoction for quickly knocking the women out. A precise amount of it on a cotton wool ball dropped into a dust mask placed over the victim’s nose and mouth did the trick. He also believed he had perfected his neuromuscular blocker, he tried measured doses on animals and it paralysed them but they remained conscious and could feel everything he did to them. He was so excited and couldn’t wait to try it on his first human victim.

Like everything he did he was meticulous in preparing for his forthcoming crimes. He studied criminology, crime scene investigation and serial killers. He knew what had got most of them caught so he came up with his own methods for committing the perfect crime. He put together his rape kit and took it for a trial run in the City of Balwyn which was far away from his home town. He went to the Starlight Lounge just to scope it out but immediately became infatuated with Rhonda Stevens and had to have her. And so his spree began.

*****

Penelope sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked police car which she had fully reclined. She was wearing a dark business suit; the jacket was hung up in the back of the car, as was Bradley Wilson’s. She and Bradley were discussing the case, she had kicked off her heels and was relaxed, her short skirt had ridden up but she was not concerned. Penelope and Bradley were in relationship, they had spent every night together either at Bradley’s hotel or at her apartment.

After a while they exhausted the topic and were content to just listen to the golden oldies on the radio, Penelope tapping and swaying her feet in time with the beat of some of the songs. She noticed that Bradley kept glancing at her feet, her thighs and breasts; she had undone the top two button of her tight blouse.

She smiled to herself and decided he needed a little more teasing and snaked her hand across to his thigh and stroked and squeezed it affectionately. Bradley patted her hand and then returned it to the wheel. Penelope slipped her hand down the inside of his thigh and stroked there, she could feel his penis begin to engorge through the fabric of his pants.

“What are you doing?” he smiled at her.

“I’m just being affectionate; isn’t that what dating couples do?” she smiled back at him.

“Is that what we’re doing? Dating?” Bradley’s smile widened.

“Well I suppose technically we are lovers but you haven’t actually taken me out on date,” Penelope pursed her lips.

“We can go out on a date in Austin tonight. I thought that in Balwyn you wanted to be discreet,” Bradley countered.

“Probably for the best,” Penelope replied.

She squeezed Bradley’s erect penis and he gasped.

“It’s nearly lunchtime but as you know I’m on a diet so I can watch you eat a Big Mac while I drink coffee or we can pull over somewhere and roll around on the back seat,” Penelope leaned over and whispered in his ear and squeezed his penis again.

“You are a wanton hussy,” Bradley snickered.

“And you are a man with an erect penis that I could put to good use,” she blew in his ear.

“Are you serious?” he looked at her and saw her lascivious grin.

“You are serious!” Bradley was surprised by her antics.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s compromise. We can pull over and both eat Big Macs and I guarantee I’ll work the calories off you when we get to the hotel,” Bradley removed her hand from between his thighs.

Penelope pouted like a petulant schoolgirl.

Bradley didn’t mind. He had witnessed Penelope become less uptight and more communicative as their relationship had blossomed, she was also less cynical.

Penelope stuck to her diet and had a salad for lunch and Bradley decided not to torture her by eating his much craved for burger and he too partook of a salad.

They hit the road again and were enjoying the peacefulness of not talking for the sake of talking; just enjoying being together when Penelope struck up a conversation that she had been meaning to have with Bradley since their first night together.

“You told me that your last girlfriend was transgender but you never divulged the full story,” Penelope said quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bradley sighed.

“Ok. I get it,” Penelope said with some finality but Bradley knew she wasn’t going to let it rest.

“It’s just you know everything about me. My past, all the sordid details, and you haven’t told me much about yourself at all, but I’m happy to let it rest,” Penelope snuggled down into her seat and looked out the window at the countryside.

Bradley remained silent for about fifteen minutes and then he spoke.

“Kerry’s story is not much different to yours. She knew she was gender dysphoric at an early age and she had loving parents who supported her and allowed her to transition,” he began.

“When I met her she was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties who like yourself was secure in her own femininity and did not want or need a vagina.”

“Yeah I get that,” Penelope said quietly.

“I fell in love with her for who she was. Her gender identity and fluidity was not an issue. We loved each other, that’s all that mattered.”

“She taught me how she could pleasure me sexually and how I could pleasure her.”

“We lived together. At the time I had my degree in law enforcement and was working for Houston PD as a police officer, working my way through the ranks to detective. She had her teaching degree and was working at a local college. We lived the same life as any loving couple and were seriously considering getting married.”

“Then one night walking to her car at the campus car park she was abducted by a man who had previous convictions for sexual assault. When he confessed he said that he was just going to rape her but when he pulled down her panties and realised that she was transgender, he lost control and beat her to death.”

“I was inconsolable and begged to work the case of course. Rightly, I was side-lined and the detectives working the case caught the guy easily. I watched the trial and was glad when he was convicted. But I never got over what had happened to her and applied to the FBI and worked hard to get seconded to the behavioural science unit. I wanted to catch guys like the man who killed Kerry.”

“But I soon realised he was not a psycho-killer; he was someone who was looking to rape a woman and simply lost control when he found out that Kerry was transgender.”

“However I had an affinity to the work, especially sex crimes. It eventually habituates you, knowing what some men can be inured to; what they can do to women and then toss them aside. I knew then that this was my calling, I was emotionally numb. Profiling men that did those heinous crimes became my passion.”

“Of course I am no saint. I took pleasure with other transgender women in the short term, I’ve been with cisgender women of course, but my leaning is toward transgender women, especially after Kerry. When this case landed on my desk I was intrigued that you were one of the detectives working the case and when I read about your background and your struggle to be accepted I requested that I be assigned as the FBI liaison.”

“But all of that became irrelevant when I met you; I was entranced, despite, no, because of your flaws. And here we are,” Bradley stared at the road ahead, never looking at Penelope.

“And here we are,” Penelope hid her tears by staring out the window.

“And once again I find myself infatuated by a transgender woman, not just because of her uniqueness and beauty, but because of her humanity and her vulnerableness which she chose to hide by being unapproachable and detached.”

“I’ve said too much. Here is our exit,” Bradley pointed to an off ramp taking them into Austin.

Penelope led Bradley to the bed as soon as they entered the hotel room.

“Come here. I want you; I want you now,” she pulled him down on top of her kissed him passionately.

He impatiently removed her jacket, skirt and blouse while Penelope fumbled with his belt buckle and then his fly, Bradley kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his suit, tie and shirt, then pulled off his sox and underpants.

Penelope lay back and watched him. She had freed herself and was stroking her cock through her satin panties. Bradley lowered his face to her groin and freed her cock and engulfed it. Penelope shuddered as he used his tongue expertly on her penis.

When she felt herself close to orgasm she pulled his face away and encouraged him to lie on top of her. She opened her legs to receive him and rubbed her nylon-sheathed claves on his flanks because she knew it drove him wild. She could feel Bradley’s cock poking her belly.

Bradley lifted her legs, exposing her buttocks and nestled his erect cock inside her panties, pushing on her sphincter. Penelope nodded, indicating that she was prepared. Since she had been dating Bradley she had started using lubricant gel-caps so that she was always prepared for him.

Bradley slid his cock inside Penelope and she purred and arched her back, locking her ankles behind him.

“Yes,” she sighed and put her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

Bradley took his time, resting between strokes, bringing both of them close to extremis and then backing off. He was an accomplished lover and knew that pressing his glans on Penelope’s prostate gland caused her immense pleasure and that wriggling his cock on her sphincter illicited little waves of ecstasy.

They could both sense when it was time and Bradley began to thrust hard and fast, Penelope rising up off the bed to meet him, digging her heels into him and raking her nails on his back.

When he came it felt like he was filling her with scalding nectar, she came with him, ejaculating against his hard belly, mewing and moaning. Bradley gasped into her mouth.

“I love you,” he whispered and Penelope froze briefly and then continued to encourage him to fuck her.

He lay beside her, catching his breath. Penelope stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

Eventually Bradley broke the silence.

“What I said…” he began to speak.

“It’s alright, people say things in the throes of passion,” Penelope continued to stare at the ceiling.

“No. I meant it. I love you,” he turned her to face him.

Penelope arose, kicked off her heels and put on a bathrobe.

“I’m going on the balcony for a smoke,” she said, emotionlessly.

Bradley gave her a few minutes and then came outside and stood behind her. She was leaning on the rail and Bradley pressed against her and put an arm either side of her, gripping the rail.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’m ok,” Penelope lied.

She flicked her cigarette butt out into the cold breeze.

“I could arrest you for littering,” he nuzzled her neck.

“It’s outside of your jurisdiction; it’s not a Federal crime,” Penelope pushed her bottom back against him and was surprised to find he was hard again.

“However I could arrest you for lewd behaviour if you keep doing what you’re doing,” Penelope purred.

He had slipped his cock between her buttocks and was rubbing it against her.

“Well If I’m going to be arrested for public indecency let’s make it worthwhile,” he gripped her hips and slid into her all the way.

Penelope wriggled her buttocks appreciatively.

*****

It turned out that Detective Sharon Morris did not have a good ass, she was a short dumpy woman but she was a good detective and had a cheery disposition. She shared her case notes and recalled her interview and interaction with the victim.

Kimberley Morris however had a great ass and was currently showing it off to good effect on East Powell Lane near Interstate 35. She was attractive but had a world-weary countenance. Despite the cold she was wearing hotpants and a tubetop, fuck-me heels, red opaque pantyhose, to keep her legs warm as much as to show them off, heavy makeup and teased hair. Her picture would be found under the word ‘hooker’ in any dictionary.

“I think you women should talk to her; I bet she doesn’t trust men,” Bradley said as they watched her from his car.

Penelope got out of the car first and took up position half a block east of Kimberley, when she was in position Sharon got out and approached from the west. They had Kimberley Morris caught in a pincer and when she ran from Sharon Morris, Penelope collared her.

Sharon caught up to Kimberley and Penelope.

“Remember me,” Sharon opened her coat to show the shield pinned to the inside pocket.

“Put me up against the wall and pat me down,” Kimberley hissed.

“What?” Sharon was confused.

“You and your friend obviously want to talk to me so put me put against the wall and push me around a little. Make it look like a bust; I’ve got the remains of an eight-ball in my handbag. If those girls think I’m cooperating with five-O they’ll have my rag,” Kimberley pretended to struggle and Penelope obligingly pushed her hard against the wall and kicked her heels apart.

Sharon made a big deal of finding the coke and they cuffed Kimberley and took her over to the car and put her in the back. Bradley was in nearby diner drinking coffee, watching through the grime-smeared window.

Penelope uncuffed her and Kimberley gingerly rubbed her wrists.

“You bitches are good actors,” she smiled at them both, took her purse back and rummaged around for smokes.

“You light that in here and I’ll get the blame and my partner will kick my ass,” Penelope said.

Kimberley ignored her and lit up anyway.

“You bitches ain’t partners?” Kimberley blew smoke out the window which Penelope had lowered.

“No. Gimme one of those, if I’m getting my ass kicked I might as well be guilty of the crime,” Penelope took a cigarette off Kimberley and lit up.

“Ok. I’m Lieutenant Penelope Bishop of the Balwyn PD and I’d like to ask you some questions about your abduction and rape,” Penelope said.

“Well I was certainly abducted but not sure if I was raped,” Kimberley said.

Penelope frowned.

“He abducted me. Came up behind me and put a mask over my face that had some sort of shitty smelling chemical in it. I woke up in a shitty old abandoned house lying on a bed. At least the sheets were clean,” Kimberley paused to drag on her smoke.

“We found out later that the sheets were brand-new straight out of the pack,” Sharon explained.

“This tall dude with a nylon stocking over his face was standing over me, he had those thin rubber gloves, the kind the doctors wear when they examine your cooze. He was white, well-built, and I’d guess him to be in his thirties. I was already naked and I wondered for a while if he’d fucked me already but he hadn’t.”

“He had a knife and was very demanding. He had a makeup kit and had me put on makeup and directed me how to do it, made me put it on really heavy and use bright red lipstick. He knew more about makeup than a man oughtta, if you know what I mean?”

“He had these nylons and garter belt, panties and bra, all red satin ‘cept the nylons were sheer flesh-toned, expensive. He had me put them on and a pair of red high heels too. They were a little too big to walk in but I figured I wasn’t going to be doing much walking in them.”

“He put the knife to my throat and told me to do exactly what he said; if did I would be fine and that he’d give me some money, lots of money.”

“He had me lie still with my arms by my side but with my legs open and I was to say nothing and not move. Just keep looking at him. I had to look at him.”

“He put on a condom and fucked me; he came quick. He had a rest and then he fucked me again. He had a rest for a while and he let have a drink of water and after a while we went back to it. He had a big cock and I have admit that the third time he did me I came. I bit down so as not to make a noise but he knew.”

“I don’t know how long I was there exactly, I’d say ten maybe twelve hours. He fucked me lots. Anyway when he finished he made me shower; he supervised me, made sure I gave my cooze a good clean in case any of his cum had escaped the condoms. Then I got dressed back in my street clothes and he gave me a thousand dollars and said not to tell; that no one would believe me anyway because I have no injuries and I’m just a hooker.”

“He came at me with the mask thing again and I woke up back on East Powell. I wasn’t gonna report it, he’d given me a thousand dollars and I even came once but it was because he said no one would believe me that got me riled so I called it in and Detective Patton here listened to me, treated me fair and believed me.’

Sharon Patton smiled but it soon faded.

“She never caught the motherfucker though.”

“Any distinguishing features? Scars? Did he have an accent? A limp? Anything?” Penelope asked.

“I didn’t see any scars and like I said he had a toned body. There is one thing, he was shaved all over including his pubic area, skin as smooth as a baby,” Kimberley said and Penelope made a note.

“So anyway sister, what brings you all the way from Balwyn?” Kimberley dropped her butt out of the window.

“We think your guy might be up to his old tricks in Balwyn only worse,” it was Penelope’s turn to flick her butt out the window.

“Shit! I read about him in the paper. Two murders involving sexual assault in Balwyn,” Kimberley shivered.

“That could have been me,” she shivered again.

“We think he was practicing, getting his MO right,” Penelope explained.

“I told Sharon here that I think he took other girls off the street and did the same. In fact I know he did it to one other girl ‘cause she told me. But she said she didn’t mind really because he didn’t beat her or nothin’ and paid her well after. She said she asked why he abducted her to do things that she would let him do for money anyway, and she says that he told her that abducting her was what got him hot. Forcing her to do what he wanted but not hurting her. What a fucking weirdo,” Kimberley reached for her cigarettes again but Penelope shook her head.

“Who is this other girl?” Penelope and Sharon asked in unison.

“I ain’t telling. If she wanted you to know she’d tell you herself; I’m no snitch. Now I told you all I know so can I go?” Kimberley reached for the door handle.

“If you remember anything else, call me or Detective Patton ok?” Penelope gave Kimberley her business card.

Kimberley got out of the car and teetered across the street in her fuck-me shoes. Penelope and Sharon were discussing her story when Kimberley stuck her head back through the window.

“There was one more thing. He made me wear this shitty perfume; really cloying. Came in a little pink bottle,” Kimberley said.

“Cloying? That’s not street talk?” Sharon Patton said.

“I have a college education darling but if I spoke like the refined lady I am on these streets the other ladies of ill repute would hand me my ass,” Kimberley tapped the top of the car and walked away.

Bradley raced over as soon as Kimberley had crossed the street.

“It smells like an ashtray in here,” he griped.

“Shut the fuck up. We just got a hot lead,” Penelope said.

*****

“So we have him starting out. Any chance he might live in Austin?” Silvia asked.

They were back in syndicate room two discussing what they had learned.

“I doubt it. The guy is too smart to shit where he eats,” Penelope said.

“We have Detective Patton canvassing other hookers to see if they’ll speak but she’s already called and said that Kimberley Morris has spread the word that the man who assaulted her is the Balwyn lady killer. They aren’t speaking; Kimberley told Sharon they are scared. They think that if they talk, the killer will find out and come back for them,” Bradley explained.

“Look the profile fits; there are too many signatures for it not to be him. The key indicator is the perfume,” Bradley twiddled his pen.

“So what now boss?” Penelope turned to Silvia.

Silvia was about to rebuke for Penelope for calling her boss when the phone rang. She picked it up and listened for a while and then hung up.

“Ok let’s roll; we have another one,” Silvia reached for her coat.

Bethany Stills was an attractive thirty-three year-old divorcee. She was lying on her bed with her arms arranged by her side and her legs spread wide. She looked like she was sleeping, her body unmarked. She was wearing black nylon see-through panties, matching bra and garter belt, fully-fashioned black stockings and black high heels. She wore a French maid’s ruffled lace headpiece.

She was wearing heavy makeup like the other victims, including the signature bright red-lipstick.

“Can you smell it?” Penelope asked as they looked at the body.

“Christian Dior’s Poison,” Bradley said unnecessarily.

Brendan Scott came over.

“Needle marks in crook of her arm; early days I know, but it’s him,” he said.

Bob Tanner joined them.

“We are still processing the scene but so far there are no visible hairs or fibres. We’re dusting for prints but nothing so far,” he said.

“We’ve yet to test it but that looks like semen,” he pointed to the silvery mucus visible through Bethany Stills’ panties.

“So we have a bride, a she-devil, and now a French maid,” Penelope pondered out loud.

“Obviously fetishic. Also I’m sorry to say, that costume can be acquired at any store that sells cosplay clothing or an adult store,” Bradley said.

“I think it’s a trope; like the animal semen. He’s playing with us. He gets to indulge his fantasy, the lingerie, heels, makeup and perfume but he also gets to tease us, possibly even mislead us.”

The same Sargent from the other crime scenes was in attendance and he stood at the door of the one-bedroom apartment waiting for them. He was no longer flippant or casual.

“I’ve have officers conducting door to doors and collecting any CCTV. If we find a potential witness we’ll let you know immediately,” he said; all business.

“Lieutenant, I want to apologise for my behaviour at the first crime scene. We figured it was a sex game gone wrong or a hooker who bought home the wrong John. I promise you that you will get full cooperation from my police officers.”

Penelope was about to rebuke him but she recalled her days working the streets in uniform. It was easy to become cynical and compartmentalise some victims.

“Thank you Sargent,” she said instead.

The trio worked late into the night and when they left Police Plaza Penelope got into Bradley’s car.

“I’m guessing you’re too tired to fool around,” she said.

“On the contrary. I’d like some loving to take my mind off this mess, even if it’s just for a little while,” he took Penelope’s hand.

“You know us special girls need to do a little prep after a long day before we hop in the sack,” Penelope smiled at him.

He smiled back. Anal sex was wonderful but it required some preparation beforehand.

“Let’s go to your hotel. You can settle down and watch some TV while I make myself beautiful for you,” Penelope squeezed his hand.

“You are always beautiful,” he put the car in gear.

“Don’t be coy; you know what I mean,” Penelope chuckled.

They made love; Penelope wearing just a pair of hold-up stockings because she knew that Bradley liked them. After, they lay in each other’s arms, both of them aware of the elephant in the room, Bradley’s declaration of love.

In a room three floors above, Michael Kendal dressed in black lingerie, black stockings, heels, wig and makeup was lying on the bed paralysed except for his eyes. His cock was erect and his eyes glued to the tablet twelve inches from his face. The room was deathly silent except for the faint buzz of the vibrating dildo inserted into his anus. The room reeked of Poison perfume.

To be continued

Author's Note: This story is obviously not to everybody's taste but not all stories can be about fairies and prom queens, most people know I write stories with a hard edge. I hope someone at least is enjoying it xxx Michele

Bethany Stills had been a delight. He first saw her when he was sitting in his car parked outside of a modern business complex where he had just met with several doctors to espouse to them of the latest advances in a blood thinner developed by Kent Pharmaceuticals.

One of the businesses in the complex was a women’s-only gym and Bethany Stills looked magnificent clad from toes to tits in body-hugging black and pink spandex. There were little panels of gauzy material sewn into the tights and the sport’s top where her smooth pale skin was visible, very tantalising.

She was one of those women who wore full makeup to the gym, her appearance as important to her as the actual workout. Michael found the sheen of light perspiration on her face and body titillating.

His lizard brain began to work. Why would she dress like that, showing off her ass, her cunt, her long legs, her tight tits if she wasn't looking to be fucked? Why the makeup and the hair? The woman was attractive and strode purposely to her car, wiggling her fanny, shaking her tits, she wanted it alright. Whore. Just like mom.

He quickly took the stocking out of the glove compartment and freed his erection. The gods favoured him. Bethany Stills leaned into her BMW Z4 Roadster and put her large gym bag on the passenger seat. Her spandex-clad ass and long shapely legs were on full display as she bent over and began to rummage for her keys; her ass high in the air.

Her legs were slightly parted and Michael could see the shape of her mound, the tight Lycra leaving nothing to the imagination. She became frustrated when she couldn’t find her keys and this caused her to waggle that magnificent derriere as she got angrier, frantically foraging in her gym bag for the elusive key fob. Finally a cry of triumph announced that she had found them but by then Michael Kendal had unloaded his wad into the stocking and was cleaning up.

Michael had already bought the lingerie and heels to put on his next victim and was keeping them for the right woman. He was determined to wait awhile, let things cool down, aware that he was accelerating, the time between crimes was getting shorter and that could be dangerous. He would be more likely to make a mistake. But when he saw Bethany Stills and her resemblance to his mother at the height of her beauty, he had to have her.

Michael followed her home; she parked in the underground car park of an apartment block. He watched her through the steel mesh security roller door that descended automatically after she had driven through it. She humped her gym bag over to the single elevator and he watched the numbers light up seeing the elevator stop on the second floor.

Modern technology is a wonderful thing but it can leave people vulnerable as proved to be the case.

Michael went back to his hotel and entered the address of the apartment block into his computer and began to search. Using proprietary software provided to him by the sales division of Kent Pharmaceuticals which had been developed to find prospective clients he was able to find a listing of everyone who lived on the second floor of the building.

If she was married or if she was living with a man he would be shit out of luck no matter how much he wanted her. He needed to confirm that she lived alone. There were two women listed as owner-occupants of second floor apartments, the rest were men. He searched for their names. The first woman was Belinda Morris, a fifty-year-old matronly woman and the second was Bethany Stills.

He began to scrutinise everything he could find about Bethany online. First of all he searched Google images and found several pictures of her. One was from the social pages of a local newspaper where Bethany Stills was attending a charity event. It was her alright, the woman from the gym. Another picture in the same paper taken a few months earlier showed her dressed in an evening gown at a political fundraiser.

More research revealed that she was a thirty-three year-old divorcee who had landed a handsome divorce settlement from her rich husband and lived the life of a social butterfly. He found her on a dating site for professionals called Elite Singles where she gave away far more personal information than was prudent. She had no children and was currently not in a relationship and she was looking for a handsome man of similar age or older who was financially independent.

She seemed like a shallow, gold-digging socialite.

Michael briefly considered posting a bogus profile on the site and hooking up with her that way, but that would leave electronic fingerprints for the cops to follow no matter how careful he was. He decided to stick to his tried and true methods.

He did some more research on Belinda Morris and found what he wanted.

Michael searched for and found the floor plans for the apartment block and noted the location of the security cameras. Importantly there wasn’t one in the elevator. There were two in the underground garage but they didn’t have coverage of the whole car park, nor were there any in the building’s corridors. The remaining security cameras covered the main entrance, the foyer, and the grounds. The CCTV was not monitored, it was fed to a security firm and the video was stored on a hard drive for later analysis in the event of a crime. It was setup mainly to deter break and enter criminals.

He could no longer contain his impulses; he really wanted Bethany Stills so he executed his plan. He was glad he had taken the time to think it through and prepare carefully.

Michael cased the apartment block for the next few days and finally struck lucky. Bethany Stills drove out of the garage early one night dressed up to go out for the evening. If she came back accompanied the jig was up but if she came back alone he had a good chance of taking her.

He was dressed in his tracksuit and training shoes, gloves and beanie and wore his fanny pack. He slipped into the garage when a car exited the underground car park about half an hour after Bethany Stills left. He slid into the shadows and waited; he was good at waiting. When it was quiet he pulled his beanie down to cover his face, took a small can of spray-paint from his fanny pack and used it on the two cameras. He went back into the shadows and entertained himself thinking about all the things he was going to do to Bethany Stills if he got her.

Bethany Stills returned about three hours later alone and parked her BMW in her allotted parking space and punched the button for the elevator. Just as the doors began to close he jogged over and put a hand between the automatic doors causing them to open.

Bethany Stills looked a little concerned at first but he gave her his best smile and she smiled back.

“Oh good we’re going to the same floor,” he said.

Bethany looked at him quizzically.

“Sorry, I’m Graham Morris; Belinda Morris’ nephew. I’m visiting for a week, do you know her? She lives on the second floor too,” this was the most dangerous part of his plan.

“I see her around,” Bethany replied as the doors began to close.

Good. Bethany Stills and Belinda Morris were only passing acquaintances. An age where people lived mostly private lives and communicated regularly with online friends thousands of miles away but didn’t talk to their next door neighbours gave predators like Michael Kendal an advantage.

Michael noticed Bethany check out his physique in his tight-fitting tracksuit and he smiled to himself. She would soon be seeing plenty of what was beneath it. His cock was rock-hard and he made no attempt to hide it. He saw her glance down at it and his smile widened.

When the door opened at the second floor he did the chivalrous thing and waved her out first. It gave him a chance to check out her ass in the slinky evening gown she was wearing.

“Have a good evening,” she smiled at him.

He nodded and smiled back, then stopped; pretending to tie his shoelace. Belinda Morris lived two doors down from Bethany Stills and when Bethany began to unlock her door Michael arose and walked down the corridor as if he was heading to Belinda Morris’ apartment. He had his hand in his fanny pack. When Bethany Stills opened the door to her apartment he put the dust mask over her face and she began to tumble to the floor. He caught her and dragged her inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

When he had her naked and incapacitated on the bed he used her keys and security clicker to drive his car into the garage and park in a visitor’s parking space.

There was one unnerving moment when he passed a man coming out of the elevator going to his car. They both nodded to each other cordially. Michael looked like any another asshole who had been out for an evening jog.

He let himself back into Bethany Stills’ small, stylish, apartment and went to the modern kitchen. The granite bench-tops, tiled floor and smooth surfaces would make cleaning up a breeze. He stripped and put on the spandex bodysuit and fresh surgical gloves; he closed the case and carried it to Bethany Stills’ bedroom. He checked on her. She was still totally incapacitated but her eyes were filled with wild terror.

“You’re going to enjoy what comes next,” he smiled down at her and then began to lay out the black lingerie and French maid’s headpiece.

*****

“At least we have something this time,” Penelope studied her whiteboard.

“Yeah we have fuzzy CCTV footage of a tall man wearing a tracksuit entering the garage and coverage of him with his beanie pulled down spraying the cameras with black spray-paint,” Silvia stared at her laptop.

“The crime scene boys found the paint can. It’s a generic brand available at any hardware store and of course no prints,” she sighed.

“What about the eye witness?” Bradley chimed in.

“I interviewed him. He described the same man we found on the CCTV, the garage was dark and he didn’t get a good look at his face but he’s with our sketch artist and we’ll compare what he gives us with the identikit provided by Julie Swindon. It’s our guy though,” Silvia said.

“The eye witness said he was carrying a small suitcase but he thought nothing of it. The man appeared to be confident, like he belonged there. He didn’t notice the make or model of the car.”

“He’s taking risks though. He allowed himself to be caught on CCTV and seen by a witness. He’s spiralling up but he’s still being careful not to leave any trace evidence. This guy is not going to quit. He could move his crimes to another city but we have his signature so we would know it’s him. We’re sure we got him in Austin just starting out and now here in Balwyn fully matured,” Bradley mused.

There was a knock on the door and Brendan Scott entered the room with a thick file in his arms.

“The coroner’s office has had a breakthrough,” he put down the file and waved the top sheet of paper vigorously.

“This stuff, the chemical concoction he uses is proprietary; unique. Not available commercially or even experimentally according to our experts who engaged all of the reputable pharmaceutical companies. We had it properly analysed and it’s like nothing they’ve ever seen. Very little analgesic which means the women saw and felt everything he did to them, but full of neuromuscular blocking agents that keep the women basically paralysed but wide awake,” Brendan said.

“What’s more, this guy would have had to ensure the dose was consummate to the victim’s bodyweight, not necessarily precise, but too much would result in an overdose and too little wouldn’t incapacitate them.”

“From what we know from the bloodwork and the track marks in the victim’s veins we figure each dose lasted about four hours, and then he injected them again. He held each victim for about twelve hours and that ties in with the number of puncture wounds we found, the last injection being the fatal dose.”

“I’ll put the details in the case file.”

“This guy is no amateur. He has a real affinity for pharmaceuticals. That should narrow your field a little.”

“Oh, and no surprise really… the semen in Bethany Stills’ vagina was bull semen.”

Brendon left the team to analyse the data he had bought it. Penelope picked up the précis sheet and pinned it to her whiteboard using a magnet.

The Chief of Detectives entered and wanted an update and the three case officers took turns telling him what they knew and where they were with the case.

“So to summarise… we know everything about this guy except who he is,” Gary Rasmussen said bitterly.

They all nodded.

“The press has made the connection. They know we have a serial killer,” Gary exhaled loudly.

“We know cops leak stuff all the time, sometimes for a kickback, sometimes to be malicious… whatever the fuck; it doesn’t matter.”

“Bonny Mendelsohn from the Balwyn Herald called me today advising me that the Herald is going to run the story on page one. I told her to hold on and rather than print conjecture and scare the shit out of everyone, that we would fact check her story,” Gary looked a little beaten.

“You told her what!” Silvia Bickle was angry.

Silvia and Bonny Mendelsohn had lived together for two years and the breakup was acrimonious to say the least.

“Look, you know how this works. You give her the story and tell her most of the facts, the factors that might cause someone to come forward with evidence or identify a suspect, but you withhold key pieces of information. The perfume, the animal semen, the colour of the lingerie; you know the drill,” Gary ran his fingers through his hair.

“Weeds out the loonies and confirms their story if someone comes forward with something legitimate we can use.”

“I get it. But why are you directing your speech to me?” she indicated the other two law officers in the room.

“Because you’re the lead detective on this case Silvia so you’re doing the interview,” Gary gave her a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think so. Get one of the others to do it,” Silvia balled her hands into fists and put them on her hips defiantly.

“I’m saving Wilson for the inevitable TV follow up; he’s got a face for television and looks good in Brooks Brothers. If we use Penelope the Herald will just bring up old news. How she singlehandedly flipped the Balwyn PD on its ass and turned all of us corrupt cops into angels.”

“No offence Penelope,” Gary nodded to her.

“None taken; but it was hardly singlehandedly and I didn’t get them all,” she replied flippantly.

“Whatever the fuck… go and see your old girlfriend and make nice and get out the story we want, not some bullshit they made up around a few rumours,” he said to Silvia.

“Also I wanna see you outside, alone,” Gary opened the door and waited for Silvia to exit and he followed her and closed the door behind them.

“How’s she doin’?” Gary chewed a fingernail.

“How is who doing?” Silvia stared at him, still angry.

“Don’t be coy. You know who I mean, our bad Penny,” Gary looked tired and on edge.

“Hasn’t had drink far as I know and she’s stopped dropping her drawers for every guy who winks at her. She’s doing good,” Silvia replied.

“She fucking the FBI guy?” Gary raised his brows.

“How the fuck would I know?” Silvia studied her fingernails.

“You two are thick as thieves; you know everything about each other. Anyway it doesn’t matter, looks like she’s doing ok. Last time I saw her she looked like a hobo in her dirty wrinkled suit and with runners in her nylons, she looks good now.”

“What are you doing checking on female police officers nylons?” Silvia baited him.

“Whatever the fuck. Go and do the interview… and play nice,” Gary Rasmussen turned and walked away.

*****

“Do you own anything except pantsuits?” Bonny Mendelsohn, crime reporter for the Balwyn Herald, asked Silvia.

“Do you own any skirts that don’t show your ass,” Silvia replied just as flippantly.

“You used to like me showing my ass,” Bonny smiled.

“Yeah, well, that was then,” Silvia said dismissively.

Bonny was a pretty Lipstick Lesbian, a real girly girl, who favoured short skirts and dresses, heels and hose, makeup and jewellery. She had been the bottom in their relationship and Silvia had been the top.

Bonny was not averse to using her looks and femininity to encourage both men and women to give her a story if that’s what it took, and there were rumours that she had fucked a young handsome lawyer to get information about a corruption piece she was researching. Silvia had confronted Bonny who refused to confirm or deny the allegation. They had fought until they could fight no more and Silvia had walked away from the relationship.

“So what you got?” Silvia slid into the booth across from Bonny.

They had agreed to meet on neutral ground at a coffee shop that they used to frequent when they were a couple.

“Rhonda Stevens, Mary Whitehouse and Bethany Stills. All good looking women in their mid to late thirties, assaulted in their homes and then killed,” Bonny read from her notebook.

“Go on,” Silvia signalled a waitress.

“All posed provocatively but no signs of a struggle, they almost looked like they were asleep when police arrived. Oh, and you guys are stymied.”

“Do I have it about right?” Bonny opened her wide sensuous bright-red lipsticked-lips to expose her brilliant white teeth.

Silvia’s heart skipped a beat; she had really loved Bonny.

Silvia put up her hand to stop Bonny as the waitress approached.

“I’ll have a double-shot latte and she will have the house grind, black with no sugar,” Bonny said to the waitress.

“She always liked a good grind,” Bonny’s eyes twinkled at the double entendre.

“Very funny,” Silvia sighed.

The waitress wrote down their order and left.

“So do I have it right?” Bonny got back to business.

“Everything except that we are stymied, we are following up some promising leads,” Silvia replied.

“We have an identikit which I’ll email you; the perp is a tall handsome guy, late thirties early forties, picks up his victims in bars or somehow ingratiates himself into the victim’s residence.”

“We think it’s someone in the medical field because he uses chemicals to overpower and kill his victims. He dresses them in lingerie,” Silvia stopped when the waitress arrived with their coffee.

“A latte and a house grind,” she gave Silvia a salacious wink.

The coffee shop was frequented by the LGBTI community.

Bonny was scribbling in her notebook. She looked up.

“The lingerie? Anything specific? You know my readers like the intimate details,” she grinned.

“Bra, panties, garter belt, stockings, and high heels. Fetish stuff,” Silvia sipped her coffee.

“The sort of thing you used to like me to wear,” Bonny snaked her hand across the table and touched her fingertips to Silvia’s.

“The sort of thing you liked to wear, I was ambivalent,” Silvia replied coldly.

“Bullshit, you used to just about rape me when you came home and found me dressed like that waiting for you,” Bonny gave her that big red-lipstick smile.

“Can we get back to your news story? I want you to include a warning to women in the victim’s age profile to be careful and a request for anyone with any information they think might be useful to come forward,” Silvia asked.

“Done,” Bonny replied.

“I gotta use the restroom,” Silvia slid out of her seat.

“I didn’t do it,” Bonny called after her.

Silvia turned.

“What?”

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t fuck the lawyer. I didn’t fuck anyone when we were together, I loved you too much. But when you accused me I got angry and indignant because you didn’t trust me. I should have just told you the truth,” there were tears in Bonny’s eyes.

“Yeah… well. Too late now,” Silvia turned around and strode to the ladies restroom.

She did her business and was touching up her lipstick when Bonny came in and headed to a stall.

Silvia pushed Bonny into the stall and slammed the door shut.

Before Bonny could speak Silvia pressed her lips against Bonny’s and kissed her, deeply and intensely. Bonny was surprised at first and then she opened her mouth and put her arms around Silvia and pressed her body against hers.

Silvia pushed Bonny away and pinned her to the wall, then she dropped to her knees and lifted Bonny’s skirt. Bonny was wearing holdup stockings and flimsy pink panties. Silvia pulled the panties aside and put her mouth on Bonny’s shaven cunt. She tasted pungent, with a lingering flowery scent of feminine hygiene product. Silvia slid her tongue inside Bonny’s labia and began to lick.

Bonny gasped and threw back her head.

Silvia lapped at Bonny’s sex and Bonny’s juices began to flow; she used the tip of her tongue on Bonny’s clitoris the way she knew Bonny liked and was rewarded with a whinnysome sigh. Bonny rested her hands on Silvia’s head and encouraged her to lap at her sensitive nubbin and lick her delicate coral pink lips, she entwined her fingers in Silvia’s hair as her orgasm wracked her.

Silvia wasn’t finished.

She stood up and kissed Bonny passionately and Bonny tasted her quim on Silvia’s breath. Silvia unbuckled her belt and dropped her pants; she guided Bonny’s hand to her pubis and Bonny rubbed Silvia through her satin panties, feeling the warmth and the wetness.

Silvia emitted a throaty growl and thrust her hand inside Bonny’s panties and worked her fingers into her sodden minge. Bonny reciprocated, opening the folds of Silvia’s vagina and thrusting two fingers inside her and stroked her clitoris with her thumb.

The two women worked on each other, rubbing and thrusting with their fingers, bringing each other to climax, they pressed their bodies together and moaned into each other’s mouths, their lips crushed together, both of them shuddering, arching up on their heels at the pinnacle of their orgasms.

Bonny was still shaking when Silvia drew away from her and pulled up her pants.

“That was a sympathy fuck for old time’s sake, now move on and find another woman,” Silvia said and opened the door and exited the stall.

The waitress was standing outside near the hand-basins looking stunned.

“That’s how you do the house grind bitch!” Silvia spanked the waitress on her ass and traipsed out of the restroom.

*****

SLEEPING BEAUTIES MURDERED BY SERIAL KILLER

Three attractive single women in their thirties have been murdered in their own residences by a man this reporter is calling the Sleeping Beauty Killer, a serial killer who incapacitates women, dresses them in sexy lingerie and repeatedly assaults them before killing them.

Reminiscent of Albert DeSalvo, otherwise known as the Boston Strangler, the killer ingratiates himself into his victim’s residences before rendering them senseless using a chemical concoction and then repeatedly rapes them over a period of twelve or so hours after dressing them in slinky panties, brassiere, stockings and high heels.

The perpetrator, possibly employed in the medical profession, is described as tall and handsome in his late thirties or early forties and pictured in the identikit picture accompanying this story.

The Balwyn Homicide Division, who appear to be stymied despite claiming to be following several promising leads, have advised women in the victims age profile to be very careful and request that anyone with any information they think might be useful to come forward to the Balwyn City PD.

Penelope read the story word for word to Silvia and Bradley who were working with her in the syndicate room.

“Jeeze that bitch sure holds a grudge, saying we are stymied,” Penelope said.

“And what’s the bullshit comparing him to the Boston Strangler?”

“Did you do something to antagonise her?”

“On the contrary; I was very polite and accommodating,” Silvia replied, not looking up from the copy of the newspaper on her desk.

“Someone is definitely leaking information but not the key elements that we are deliberately withholding; I never told Bonny that he keeps them alive for twelve hours or more.”

The door to the syndicate room opened and Gary Rasmussen poked his head around the door.

“Put on your best suit and whitest shirt tomorrow Agent Wilson. You’re up next with Meadow Dupree from Fox News at eight am. The networks are all over this shit. Make the most of it. See if we can snag a lead or two.”

“Keep your wits about you, she’s like a shark with blood in the water and not averse to using her tits and ass to trap unwary dupes and trick them into saying something they shouldn’t,” Gary chuckled.

“Do you even know what the word misogynist means?” Silvia shook her head.

“Hey Bickle, how do you know when a woman is about to say something smart? When she starts her sentence with, ‘A man once told me...’” Gary laughed and closed the door quickly just before Silvia’s low-heel crashed into it.

*****

“Meadow Dupree is quite the dish,” Penelope teased Bradley when they got home to her apartment.

Bradley pulled Penelope into his arms.

“You’re the only dish I’m interested in,” he touched her face and then he kissed her.

“Dinner or bed first?” Penelope said; a mischievous grin on her face.

“Can we have dinner in bed?” Bradley went along with the joke.

“Yeah, we can eat in bed. Not sure it will involve any food though,” she squeezed his erection through his pants.

“You keep doing that and you might get a creamy dessert before you have had your entrée,” he grinned.

Bradley put his hand under Penelope’s skirt. She’d freed her genitals in the car on the way home. He stroked her hard cock through her satin panties.

“I think I’ll take some meat with my appetiser,” Penelope grinned back at him and began to walk backwards towards the bedroom still locked in Bradley’s embrace.

She felt the back of her legs bump into the base of the bed and Bradley pushed her and she fell back on the bed, arms and legs akimbo.

“Let me at least get undressed,” Penelope giggled.

“Sorry I want my appetiser right now,” Bradley laughed and dived on top of her.

Penelope pretended to fight Bradley, wriggling underneath him as he pinned her down, he pushed his pants to his knees and freed his cock, but as soon as she felt his hard penis pressing on her thigh she opened her arms and held him close, kissing him passionately.

Penelope lifted her buttocks off the bed so Bradley could hike up her skirt.

“This would be a lot easier if you just let me get undres… oh Jesus!” she sighed as Bradley eased aside her panties and slid himself inside her all the way.

Penelope hung onto him, her arms around his neck and her stocking-sheathed legs around his waist as he fucked her with long slow strokes. They kissed, exploring their mouths with their tongues. Penelope broke the kiss briefly.

“I’m going to ruin this suit,” she gasped.

“Shut up. I’ll buy you a new one,” Bradley lowered his face to hers again and began to fuck her harder and faster.

His big cock found her special place and she felt her orgasm build as his bulbous glans pushed on it. Penelope was fully erect and throbbing inside her silky panties, Bradley put his hand between their bodies and squeezed it and pushed himself all the way inside her and ground against her.

Bradley felt Penelope’s cock palpitate as a puddle of hot semen soaked through her satin panties. He came with her, his cock pulsating as he ejaculated inside her tight anus, Penelope used her anal muscles to milk him of every drop while he expressed every scintilla of sperm from her aching cock.

Penelope drove her tongue deep into Bradley’s mouth and crossed her ankles behind his back as she rose up off the bed and pressed her buttocks into his groin. She wanted every millimetre of his flesh inside her and Bradley wanted it too, thrusting himself hard against her, his cock convulsing as he spent the last of his seed deep inside her anus.

“Jeeze that was intense!” Penelope gasped, still coming down from her orgasmic high.

Bradley began to nuzzle Penelope’s neck, his cock still buried in her anus leaking the last droplets of his spend.

“Get off me,” Penelope pushed on Bradley’s chest.

He looked a little hurt.

“Seriously, get off me. If I can get this skirt off without getting any cum on it I can save this suit,” Penelope groused.

Bradley slowly withdrew his penis from Penelope’s anus and pushed her panties back in place to soak up some of the semen that was dripping from her sphincter. He got off the bed and carefully tucked himself away ensuring he didn’t get any sperm on his pants or suit jacket.

Penelope still lay on the bed and she pushed her high heels into the coverlet, arching her back so she could shuck out of her skirt, trying to keep it away from the mess in her panties. She was partially successful but did get a silvery trail of semen on the lining.

She tossed her skirt on the floor and sat up to remove her jacket and blouse.

“I told you it would have been a lot easier if you just let me undress,” she said, gingerly sliding her cum-soaked panties down her legs.

She threw them at Bradley but he caught them easily one-handed.

“Can I keep them?” he grinned at her, he was now fully naked except for his sox.

“No!” she griped.

Penelope was also naked except for her bra and stockings.

Bradley tossed aside the panties and fell on her.

“Can I keep you then,” he smiled lovingly into her face.

Penelope frowned.

“What does that mean?” she hissed.

“You know what it means,” he softly kissed her cheek.

“Why are you complicating things?” Penelope sighed.

“Because I love you,” Bradley looked deeply into Penelope’s radiant green eyes.

Penelope rolled out from under him and he made no attempt to stop her.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” she said, unclipping her brassiere.

“It’s the second time I’ve meant it,” Bradley was lying on his side, his head propped up by his elbow.

“Well stop saying it,” Penelope was standing awkwardly one-legged as she rolled down a stocking.

Penelope began to gather her clothing off the floor.

“Is it too early in our relationship?” Bradley got off the bed.

He followed Penelope to the bathroom where she sorted through her clothes, putting her panties, nylons and bra into a lingerie bag which she tossed along with her blouse into the washing basket. She took a damp cloth and wiped at the semen that had stained the black satin lining of her skirt. She hung it inside-out on a hanger to dry and hung up the jacket beside it.

“Are you going to answer me?” Bradley was getting heated.

“Men look silly when they are naked but still wearing sox,” she brushed passed him and went to kitchen, taking a silk robe from the back of the bathroom door as she went.

Penelope slipped into the robe. Bradley caught her and held her by her elbows.

“So you don’t love me?” he gazed into her eyes.

“I don’t know what I feel for you. This is more than just a roll in the hay; we have a real connection, but I’m not sure that it’s love,” Penelope sighed.

“I am,” Bradley said determinedly.

“I think you are using me to replace Kerry, is what I think,” Penelope stepped back from him.

For the first time Penelope saw anger in Bradley’s face.

“No one can replace Kerry. But people move on. When loved ones pass it hurts like hell and you think the pain will never stop but it does. You never forget the ones you love but somehow you make room for other people to enter your life,” Bradley whispered.

“Don’t forget to feed your unicorn when you get back to the hotel,” Penelope said sarcastically.

“You are such cynic Penelope. Why can’t you believe that you can get over Randy Cody and make room for someone else in your heart,” Bradley beseeched her.

“You don’t talk about Randy Cody to me,” Penelope’s face was twisted with anger.

“So you don’t love me. Ok. Are you going to keep treating your pain with booze? Are you going to keep trying to forget him by fucking any loser with a cock?” Bradley said bitterly and immediately regretted it.

The slap was a roundhouse wallop and it rocked Bradley on his heels.

He rubbed his face; his eyes were tearing up with the pain. He took one last look at Penelope and then went back into the bedroom to dress.

Bradley walked past her without saying a word and slammed the door behind him.

Penelope collapsed on the floor and sobbed.

*****

Felicity Kendal sat glued to the TV set watching the pretty little thing dressed in the short-skirted, powder-blue power-suit. She had a flicked-out blonde bob, a red lipstick blow-job pout, beautiful blue eyes, long legs and big tits on a skinny frame. Felicity hated her as soon as she saw her, everything about the reporter screamed fake. Fake tits, fake lips, fake hair, even a fake name… who the fuck calls their kid Meadow Dupree? But Felicity watched the woman report her story about the Sleeping Beauty Killer who was active in the small city of Balwyn Texas.

Meadow Dupree was interviewing a handsome FBI agent who was describing the killer’s modus operandi. The killer sought out attractive women in their thirties who lived alone, drugged them so they couldn’t move, dressed them in fetish lingerie and kept them captive while he repeatedly assaulted them and then killed them. He had killed three women so far that they knew of.

‘Police suspect that the perpetrator is a doctor, a nurse, or some other medical professional, maybe a pharmacist or a chemical engineer.’

‘He’s late thirties, early forties, tall and good looking.’

‘Here is the identikit picture released by Balwyn PD.’

The network bought up two sketches of a man who could be almost anyone.

‘Anyone who has any information or believe that they recognise the suspect or his MO should contact Balwyn PD on the number displayed at the bottom of the screen.’

‘Women who fit the profile should be very careful and ensure that they get home safely, particularly at night, preferably accompanied by someone they trust and should not open their doors to strange men.’

The pretty reporter finished her précis and questioned the handsome agent for a while longer but nothing new was revealed.

Felicity reread the article in the Houston Chronicle which she had open on the coffee table in front of her. On the third page Bonny Mendelsohn’s Sleeping Beauty story was printed verbatim.

Michael Kendal was watching the news in his hotel room and he grinned. The dumb coppers had appealed to the public, confirming to him that they had no idea of his identity. He was pleased with the notoriety, it might make finding future victims a little harder but he liked the hunt. Besides, women were basically stupid, they were good for one thing and most weren’t good at that until he tamed them with his drugs.

He got a nice surprise when he arrived home two days later.

Felicity was sending the girls out on a sleepover she’d told him during their last phone call. They would have the house to themselves all night.

She met him at the door already dressed in the sexy lingerie and high heels that he liked and had put on her slut makeup and reeked of Poison. She wriggled her bottom as she preceded him up the stairs to their bedroom and sat on the bed waiting for him to undress.

“Is it you?” she whispered.

Michael turned towards her, naked and erect.

“Is what me?” he felt a chill run down his spine.

“Are you the Sleeping Beauty Killer? I don’t mind if you are. I hope you are. Those stupid sluts deserved what they got.”

“The man who does those things is very bold, resourceful and powerful; the kind of man who would look after his wife and his children but remove hussies and women of low morals from the earth.”

“Look what my thinking about you being that man has done to me,” she lay back and lewdly opened her legs and he could see the wet patch spreading in the transparent gusset of her white nylon panties.

“Here let me do what you like; I’ll shut up now,” She lay back with her legs open and her arms by her side and stared at him.

She didn’t move her head just followed him with her eyes as he climbed on the bed. She didn’t make a sound as he pulled aside her panties and slammed his phallus into her. She remained silent as she immediately orgasmed but Michael could see it in her eyes. She orgasmed again when he ejaculated inside her after fucking her hard for only one minute.

“Ok honey,” he said the magic words that allowed her to move and speak.

“No. I want it again,” she looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire.

She became rigid and silent and he entered her again, this time fucking her for ten minutes before he climaxed; she came with him, remaining silent but her eyes burned with lust.

“Ok honey,” he dismounted, his cock still erect and dripping.

“Can you do it to me sometime?” she got to her knees and embraced her husband.

“Do what?” he glared at her.

“You know what. Do what you do to those women. Make me almost lifeless but still able to feel and see what you are doing to me.”

“I never admitted to being him,” he glared at her.

“It’s you. I know it is and I love you even more for it,” she kissed his cheek softly.

“If it was me, shouldn’t you be scared that I might kill you too?” he murmured.

“But if you wanted to do that you would have done it already. I’m here with you alone, defenceless. I live to adore you, you know that. You are a powerful man and I’m a weak woman, I wouldn’t fight you.”

Michael turned to face her and suddenly closed his hands around her throat; his fingers gripped her neck tightly. Felicity said nothing. She raised her head a little exposing her neck even more while she stared at him with adoration in her eyes.

He dropped his hands.

“Do you really want to know what it’s like to lie there helpless, unable to move or talk while a man defiles you?” he searched her eyes.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Wait here. Lie on the bed like I’ve taught you to do. There will be a little prick and then you will feel a big prick,” he grinned at her mirthlessly.

He left her lying there while he went down to his car to get his rape kit.

To be continued

After his fight with Penelope, Bradley Wilson had gone back to his hotel and had a fitful night’s sleep.

As directed, he put on his best Brooks Brothers navy-blue suit and crisp white shirt. He wore a blue silk tie and highly polished black shoes. He left the hotel at seven o’clock to make the eight o’clock interview.

Even though he was dog-tired he looked good, his toned body filled the suit perfectly and his handsome features, piercing blue eyes and styled collar-length black hair were not lost on Meadow Dupree.

Nor was Meadow’s beauty lost Bradley. She was wearing a short-skirted, powder-blue power-suit. She had a flicked-out blonde bob; her thick, red-lipstick lips were formed into a permanent pout, she had beautiful blue eyes, long legs clad in gossamer nylons, and generously proportioned breasts despite her slim frame.

She flirted openly with him, bending over when she didn’t need to, getting uncomfortably close to him to pin on the lapel microphone, letting her skirt ride up to the very top of her thigh while she sat in her director’s chair waiting for the interview to begin.

Gary Rasmussen was right about her being like a shark with blood in the water. After the interview they sat on a couch in her dressing room and she tried to pump him for more information, off the record.

He hadn’t wanted to be alone with Meadow in her dressing room, it was totally against protocol but he was pissed with Penelope and although childish he saw flirting with Meadow as a way to get back at her.

“Come on Agent Wilson, give me a gem. Just a little titbit; an exclusive to make my story special,” her eyes twinkled and she suggestively sucked on a finger and smiled at him.

“I’ve given you everything I can Ma’am,” Bradley smiled back at her.

“I don’t think you have Agent Wilson,” she leaned against the arm of the couch and extended a long lustrously nyloned leg and put her spike heeled sandal in his lap.

Bradley caressed her ankle; her nylons were soft and ultra-sheer, delicate. His nail snagged the ethereal fabric and a runner raced up her leg.

“Oh my god I’m sorry. Let me pay for those they must be expensive,” Bradley felt like a klutz.

“Wolford Neon. They cost fifty dollars a pair imported from the UK,” Meadow didn’t remove her foot and kept smiling.

Bradley got the gist. She didn’t care. Poor spoiled little rich girl who gets everything she wants, he thought. He continued to caress her ankle and then slid his hand further up her calf.

“Where are you going mister?” she grinned at him but didn’t remove his hand from her leg.

“I figured if I’m going to pay fifty dollars for them, they must be mine to keep,” Bradley grinned back at her.

“What makes you think that?” she put her finger back in her mouth seductively.

“Because I’m going to have to pull them down a little or put a bigger hole in them before I fuck you, so either way I guess I’m paying for them,” his fingers moved past her knee to her thigh.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you,” her voice was thick with lust.

“You didn’t invite me back here and put your foot in my lap to discuss the weather,” his hand slid under her skirt.

Meadow pushed her foot into Bradley’s crotch and rubbed her high heel on his erect penis.

“You’re not wearing panties,” her ultra-sheer pantyhose clung to her smooth shaven mons.

“I never do. Please do not change the subject Agent Wilson,” she leaned forward and opened his flies and extracted his erect penis and then leaned back in her chair.

“Are we discussing the price of British pantyhose or titbits?” Bradley asked.

Meadow gasped suddenly as Bradley stroked her pubis, tracing his finger around her vulva through the diaphanous nylon.

Meadow arched her foot, trapping Bradley’s cock between the inside of her sandal and her sole. She began to lazily slide her foot up and down his shaft.

“You give me a titbit and you can have my pantyhose and everything that’s inside them,” her red-lipsticked lips formed into a lewd leer.

“I think I have everything that’s inside them now,” Bradley slipped his finger inside her vulva and found her labia, the flimsy nylon stretched easily to allow him to do so.

“You expect me to just offer you my virtue Mister Wilson?” the leer transformed into a childish pout.

“No. I’m going to take it,” Bradley smirked back at her.

“But I thought you were one of the good guys?” she squeezed his cock with her foot.

“I am a good guy. That’s why I’m going to give you what you want,” he replied.

“And what is that mister Wilson?” Meadow teased him.

Bradley suddenly leapt up and grabbed Meadow’s ankles and pulled her down on the couch. She lay on her back with her skirt around her waist as he pulled her legs wide apart and knelt between them.

“What are you doing Mister Wilson?” Meadow feigned shock but he could see her juices glistening through the sheer gusset of her hose.

“This,” Bradley lay on top of her and pushed his cock into her groin.

Meadow smelled wonderful and her skin was soft, her hair was silky and smelled of expensive conditioner. Her heavy breasts cushioned him but she was skinny and for a while he was worried he might hurt her. He stopped worrying when she wrapped her legs around him and raised her pretty face to his and opened those full wide lips.

He stabbed at her with his rock-hard cock and it tore through the flimsy crotch of her pantyhose and slid insider her. She put her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

Meadow was surprisingly tight and his cock felt like it was gripped by a velvet sheath. She adjusted herself underneath him so that he was pressing on her clitoris and encouraged him to fuck her, rising up and pushing her pubis against him, grinding against him, gasping into his mouth.

Bradley fucked her hard. Thinking about Penelope as he did so, childishly wishing she could see him fucking the gorgeous news presenter, making her jealous and remorseful.

As was her nature, Meadow was selfish when it came to sex, she made Bradley adjust his position so she could enhance her pleasure, she kissed him passionately, nipping at his lips and tongue with her perfect white teeth.

Bradley pushed Meadow down into the couch and began to fuck her hard, almost viciously. She cried out and locked her legs around him tighter.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed and arched her back and ground against him as she orgasmed.

Bradley fucked her as hard as could and ejaculated inside her; his semen hot and musky. The scent of Meadow’s perfume, his aftershave, his acrid semen, the stench of her juices, mingled and formed a pungent odour.

Bradley lay on top of Meadow gasping and she lay under him panting, her body quivering with little aftershocks.

Bradley extracted himself from her embrace and snatched a box of tissues off her dresser and dabbed at his cock before he put it away and zipped up. He dropped the box of tissues into Meadow’s lap; she still lay on the couch with her legs spread, catching her breath.

He walked to the door and then stopped and turned around.

He rummaged in his wallet and produced a fifty which he also dropped in her lap. She looked up at him amused.

“Buy yourself some new pantyhose.”

“Oh and here’s your titbit,” he said.

Meadow lifted herself on her elbows and looked at him expectantly.

“The butler did it,” he said flippantly and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Meadow’s assistant was waiting patiently outside the dressing room door with a clipboard in her hand. She gave him a knowing look, like it was a regular occurrence.

“She wants to see you right now,” Bradley said offhandedly.

He smiled to himself as he walked down the studio corridor and heard Meadow scream “Get out!” to her unsuspecting assistant.

The afterglow of the grudge fuck soon wore off and he started thinking of Penelope again; hating himself for what he had just done and hoping that Penelope was not doing the same thing.

*****

After the newspaper article and the TV interview on Fox News the leads began to pour into Police Plaza. The Homicide Division had set up a hotline manned by experienced uniformed police officers and civilian office staff. As expected some of the leads were bogus, called in by the usual nuisance callers and perpetual meddlers and most of the other leads were of little use.

Anything that might be useful was forwarded through to syndicate room two where the team beavered away. The Chief of Detectives called by again.

“Great interview Bradley. You look good on camera,” Gary Rasmussen said.

“I did a media course at Quantico a while back; it came in handy,” Bradley looked up from the file he was reading.

“That Meadow Dupree is a piece of work, her knees should have a party and invite her skirt down,” he chuckled.

Penelope looked up from the file she was reading and glared at Gary.

“Did she try to wheedle more information from you? She’s been known to use her assets to do so in the past.”

“Here we go again with the chauvinist tropes,” Silvia Bickle chimed in.

“Not really. We had coffee in her dressing room after the interview but I told her I couldn’t give her any more information,” Bradley said with some finality.

“You didn’t accidently fuck her while you were in there did you? Rumours travel fast in a small city,” Gary studied his fingernails.

“Nah. She’s not my type; too skinny and hedonistic,” Gary replied, but glanced guiltily at Penelope who was purposely not looking at him.

“Yeah… I heard you don’t like ‘em skinny,” Gary said on the way out.

This time it was Penelope’s high heel that crashed into the door.

“Trouble in paradise?” Silvia asked.

She had followed Penelope out to the designated smoking area in the parking lot.

“He says he loves me,” Penelope studied the glowing tip of her cigarette.

“And you guys joke about U-Haul lesbians,” Silvia snickered.

“But seriously; you two seemed to be getting along pretty well. He’s been a good influence on you. You look good, you’re dressing well, you’ve stopped drinking and catting around, and you’ve lost weight,” Silvia touched Penelope on the arm affectionately.

“You think I’ve lost weight?” Penelope grinned.

“All the good things I just said about you and you pounced on the comment that you’ve lost weight. You might have a dick in those drawers Penny but you are all woman,” Silvia chuckled.

“Fuck off Bickle,” Penelope crushed out her cigarette, swiped her entry card and opened the door that led back into Police Plaza.

“Hey Bickle, what’s the leading cause of death among lesbians? Hairballs,” Penelope called over shoulder.

“Fuck off Bishop, we’re both shaved,” Silvia called back.

“TMI Bickle, TMI,” Penelope opened the inner door and headed back to the Detectives Division.

Some of the leads that came into the hotline came from informants who suspected people that they knew in the medical profession who might be the Sleeping Beauty Killer, as everyone was now calling the perpetrator. Silvia and Penelope spent the next few days fruitlessly following up on the leads. All of the doctors, nurses and pharmacists they interviewed had alibis or simply could not be the perpetrator for other legitimate reasons.

“We always figured our guy doesn’t live in Balwyn; that he uses the city as his hunting ground. We’d be better off looking for men employed in the medical profession who are cyclic visitors to the city. Men who come here regularly to attend conferences of offer specialist services on a regular basis,” Bradley mused.

“Maybe we should canvass the hospitals and clinics for their registers and rosters of visiting specialists?” Penelope offered.

She and Bradley had been cordial with each other since their breakup but there was still a lot of tension in the air.

“I’m still buried under a ton of paperwork trying to track down where he got the animal semen,” Silvia whined.

“Look I’ve given you guys every available detective I have. They’re out there wearing out shoe leather following up on the hotline leads so it looks like it’s up to Bishop and Wilson to hit the streets and dig into those registers; see if you can find out what hotels these guys might have stayed in too, there might be a lead or two there,” Gary Rasmussen said.

Gary had been taking heat from the Chief of Police who was taking heat from the Mayor who was taking heat from the Governor. Shit rolls downhill but Gary did a good job shielding his team.

“You start researching the hospitals and I’ll start on the clinics. When we have anything of use we’ll hit the streets and try to narrow down any leads,” Penelope said to Bradley.

Bradley nodded and started hitting the keys on his laptop.

*****

Michael Kendal had a dilemma. Now that Felicity knew that he was the Sleeping Beauty Killer she was both an asset and a liability. She liked him injecting and immobilising her and for a while it had slaked his thirst but it just wasn’t the same. He could see the lust in Felicity’s eyes when he fucked her while she was paralysed but it wasn’t lust that he craved, it was terror.

Also he didn’t get the essential delight and satisfaction of the hunt and ultimate gratification of killing his victims. Michael was still addicted to crossdressing which he still secretly practiced but it didn’t give him the same thrill as acting out the part of victims.

For a while he considered bringing Felicity along when he next went hunting, he could use her to lure the selected victim into his web, a woman would not be expecting another woman to harm her. But he discarded the idea as too dangerous.

He accompanied his family to church on Sunday as the next day he would be back on the road. He didn’t pay attention to the sermon instead he daydreamed about what he was going to do to his next quarry. As they were leaving the church he saw his eldest daughter Rebecca talking to a boy.

Michael studied Rebecca. She was turning eighteen soon but she was still naïve and childlike. He and Felicity kept strict control over their daughters, regulating every aspect of their lives.

Rebecca being the eldest had been granted a few stipends. She was wearing an A-line skirt a few inches above her knees, it was still very girly, red with a big bow in front, but she was showing some leg. She was allowed to wear pantyhose and her long legs shimmered in the weak winter sun. She was wearing a white blouse with puffy sleeves and her breasts swelled the front of it. Felicity allowed Rebecca to wear a little makeup and she was pretty, she self-consciously scuffed her black Mary-Jane's while she flirted with the boy.

“Go and get our daughter away from that boy!” Michael growled at his wife.

Felicity stormed over and pulled her daughter away from the young man who beat feet when he saw Michael Kendal glaring at him.

The girls were going to a birthday party after church and Felicity threatened to stop them doing so if they didn’t behave themselves. It was an empty threat really because she was already moist in anticipation of spending the afternoon with Michael inside her.

“Are you keeping my girls safe?” Michael was grumpy when they got in the car to drive home.

“Yes honey; I had them checked only last week,” Felicity replied.

At their parents behest, the Kendal’s family doctor checked that the girls hymens were intact during their medical check-ups. Michael and Felicity had full access to their daughter’s laptops, tablets and mobile phones and regularly checked their online activity, phone calls and texts.

Michael was well aware that he would have to give up his daughters eventually when they married but while they were living under his roof they lived under his rules.

Strangely enough, because the girls had been raised under strict parental control they didn’t really mind. Their parents were loving and generous and the girls adored their father and were very respectful.

That afternoon as Felicity lay under him dressed in her sexy lingerie, heels and slut makeup and he pounded away at her prone body, Michael’s thoughts kept drifting to the image of his teenage daughter dressed in her A-line skirt with her long legs and pretty face.

*****

Bradley and Penelope did the rounds of city’s medical facilities, flashing their badges and asking questions about visiting doctors and specialists whose presence in Balwyn overlapped or coincided with the dates of the murders. Some were alibied by their sponsoring facility, the persons concerned were working, attending conferences, meeting or attending social events during the time of the murders but they were still left with a shortlist of persons of interest to track down.

Bradley tried to be as bright and breezy as he could but Penelope was grouchy and uncommunicative.

“We can’t keep going like this Penelope. I’ll make the same offer to you that I made when we first met. If you don’t want me here I’ll go back to San Antonio and the Field Office can send another Agent,” Bradley said, finally exhausted with her attitude.

“You know we can’t do that. You’re too involved, you know too much about the case. Having someone come in cold would be counterproductive,” Penelope snapped back at him.

“Look. I can’t make myself un-love you but we can at least act life professionals,” Bradley said.

“Well I can’t make myself forget what you said either,” Penelope sighed.

She checked her watch.

“Anyway it’s quitting time. You can drop me off here on the corner. We’ll work those other leads tomorrow,” she pointed to a corner across the street from The Longhorn bar.

Bradley got a phone call at eleven that night, rousing him from his sleep. It was Silvia.

“You told Penelope that you loved her right?”

“Yes… what? Why are you ringing me at nearly midnight to ask that?” Bradley was tired and confused.

“Well if you do love her, get your ass down to the Longhorn. I can’t go because I’d be duty bound to report what I see to the Chief of Detectives and if what my snoopy bartender friend tells me is true, she’s steering headlong into trouble.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we never had this conversation,” Silvia broke the connection.

Bradley arrived at the Longhorn to find the place in full swing. Texas country was wailing from the jukebox and the crowd, mostly off duty cops, were drunk and rowdy. Bradley couldn’t see Penelope so he forced his way to the bar. Jimmy, who had been Penelope’s regular bartender, broke away from the crowd around the beer taps and waved to Bradley.

“Did Silvia send you?” he shouted over the din.

Bradley nodded.

“She went out back with that asshole Mitch O’Donnell. I cut her off because she’s falling down drunk but she refused to go home. Mitch got a six pack from one of my less intelligent bartenders and enticed her outside with it,” Jimmy said.

“If she ever gets sober, you tell her she’s banned from here for a month,” Jimmy turned and went back to his thirsty patrons.

Bradley went down the corridor past the men's and ladies restrooms, and past a stack of empty beer kegs. A patron had a girl in the corner and they were going at it pretty heavy, kissing and groping each other. The girl wasn’t tall enough to be Penelope and she didn’t have blonde hair so he knew it wasn’t her. He kept walking and came to the exit to the rear car park.

The car park was gloomy, lit by two yellow sodium vapour lights. He heard a commotion coming from over near a pickup at the back of the car park and made his way over.

“Please Mitch, I wanna go home,” he heard a woman drawl drunkenly.

“This won’t take long princess then I’ll take you home,” he heard a man say.

“I feel sick, I think I’m gonna puke,” the woman whined, slurring her words.

“I told you princess, just keep still and let me finish and you can go anywhere you want,” the man hissed impatiently.

Bradley rounded the pickup and saw Penelope sprawled against the back of truck. There was a man behind her with his pants down, trying to hold Penelope’s skirt up out of the way whilst trying to keep her from falling over while he jabbed at her buttocks with his hard cock.

Penelope’s panties and pantyhose were bunched around her knees and she looked befuddled and stupefied, almost senselessly drunk. She was swaying and the man kicked her feet further apart.

“Fucking stay upright you bitch!” the man grunted as he tried in vain to penetrate her.

Bradley walked up and hit the man with a roundhouse punch and heard a crack as the man’s jaw broke. The man fell to the ground unconscious and Penelope fell to her knees beside him and began to puke.

She lifted her head and looked at Bradley, ropes of vomit stuck to her hair.

“Whatdya do that for?” she looked at him through unfocussed eyes and promptly passed out.

Penelope woke up late the next day feeling she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight prize-fighter and lost. She was in a strange bed and it took her a while for her to get her bearings and then she realised that she was in Bradley Wilson’s hotel room.

“Shithouse mouse!” she hissed.

She tentatively looked under the bedclothes and saw that she was dressed in a pair of men’s briefs. She was wearing a clean white shirt, one of Bradley’s, and her hair smelled of shampoo.

Penelope tried to remember what had happened last night and couldn’t remember anything after entering the Longhorn. She looked around the room but couldn’t see any of her own clothing, and then she heard the door to the hotel suite open and Bradley’s footsteps approaching.

Bradley Wilson stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. He was holding a garment bag which he held up so she could see it.

“I took the liberty of taking your keys and going round to your place to get you a change of clothes.”

“Was I an asshole?” she looked at him sheepishly.

“You were passed out at first then you came too in the car and called me some names I’ve never heard before… and I was a Marine! Then you tried to hit me and missed, but you managed to throw up in my lap, other than that you were a lady,” Bradley grinned.

Penelope grimaced.

Bradley entered the bedroom and put the garment bag on the couch, unzipped it and took out one of Penelope’s suits which he hung on the back of the door.

“I don’t know why you brought me a suit. I don’t have a job to go to,” Penelope sighed.

“I called the Chief of Detectives and told him that we were leaving early to drive to Austin to re-interview Kimberley Morris. You’re off the hook for two days,” Bradley went out into the small kitchen-diner.

He had moved into a self-contained apartment on one of the hotel’s upper floors when he realised that he would be staying in Balwyn indefinitely.

Penelope bowed her head and said a silent prayer.

Bradley came back in with two steaming cups of coffee and offered her one.

Penelope sat up in bed, took the coffee and took a sip and sighed.

“Silvia?” Penelope cringed.

“Said to tell you that are no longer going to her bridesmaid and that you are getting nothing for Christmas. Other than that she is just glad you are safe,” he took a sip of his coffee.

“Safe? How bad was I?” Penelope took another sip and then put her cup down on the bedside table.

“You don’t remember?” Bradley couldn’t help smiling.

“What?” Penelope squeezed his wrist.

“Mitch O’Donnell was trying to do ungentlemanly things to you out back in the car park,” Bradley took another sip.

Penelope winced. Some of what had happened began to filter through the haze.

“That asshole!” Penelope hissed.

“I don’t know who was drunker, you or him. I’ll leave you to shower and dress. We’ll have to go to Austin now so our story holds up. It’s ok though, I wouldn’t mind bouncing a few ideas off Detective Patton,” Bradley got up off the bed and closed the door behind him when he left the room.

Penelope got out of bed gingerly and walked over the dresser. Her handbag, purse and mobile phone were laid out on top and she thanked whoever the god was who looked after drunks. She foraged through the garment bag and found clean underwear, a pair of black low heels, two packages of pantyhose and her travelling cosmetics and toiletry kit.

She climbed back into bed and called Silvia on her phone.

Penelope came out of the bedroom looking remarkably well. Bradley was sitting on the couch, case files spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

Penelope sat down beside him, leaned in and softly kissed his check.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What for?” Bradley remained staring down at the paperwork on the table.

“For everything. I know that you put yourself out there for me and risked getting into trouble yourself,” she replied.

“It’s what you do when you love someone,” Bradley said quietly.

“Even if they don’t deserve it?” Penelope said just as softly.

Bradley turned to face her and brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

“If you love someone, they deserve everything you can give them.”

Penelope leaned in to kiss him and Bradley turned away.

“Don’t Penelope. It hurts more when the person you love doesn’t love you back. It’s bad enough seeing you every day, longing for you, needing you, but knowing that even if you were to rekindle our relationship my love for you would not be reciprocated.”

“But you deserve everything I can give you,” Penelope took his hand in hers.

He turned to face her again.

“Because I do love you. I’ve spent all this time trying to deny my love for you because I’m afraid I’ll lose you, just like I lost my husband,” she searched his eyes.

This time when she leaned in to kiss him he let her. Then he returned the kiss and took her in his arms. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity and when they broke the kiss they looked at each other sheepishly, like teenagers on their first date.

“Did you really break Mitch O’Donnell’s jaw?” she smiled at him.

“He was messing with my girl,” he smiled back.

They had no time to fool around because they needed to get to Austin but when they checked into their hotel suite they didn’t wait to unpack before they leapt onto the bed, Bradley naked and Penelope in her underwear and heels. For a minute or two Bradley felt guilty about fucking Meadow Dupree but it didn’t last long.

They kissed and canoodled for a bit, getting each other hard and stroking each other’s cocks. When they were both fully tumescent they lay head to toe and went to work sucking, licking and tonguing each other’s cocks.

Penelope worked her lips up and down Bradley’s shaft, using her tongue on his glans, even nipping him gently and Bradley sucked on Penelope’s cock, doing a thing with his tongue that felt like a thousand butterflies tickling her fraenulum.

“Mmm, you are so good at that,” Penelope sighed.

“You’re pretty good yourself but I want to kiss you,” Bradley spat out Penelope’s cock.

“Ok, come here cry baby,” she rolled onto her back and opened her arms to receive him and Bradley did not disappoint.

He kissed her tenderly and slowly built up the passion, pressing his cock against hers, and stroking her breasts and tweaking her nipples until they were hard pink berries. Penelope gripped his cock firmly and squeezed it as she slid her tongue into his mouth.

They both knew it was time and Bradley pulled down Penelope's panties and tossed them aside. She scooted up the bed a little and placed two pillows under the small of her back and opened her legs. She took Bradley’s erect penis in her hand and guided it to her sphincter and he slid inside her, right up to the hilt. He kissed her, not moving, afraid he would prematurely ejaculate. Penelope crossed her ankles behind his back and her arms around his neck kissed him long and deep and began to writhe beneath him.

Bradley could feel Penelope’s hard cock pressing against his belly, dripping pre-ejaculate and he started to fuck her. He drove himself deep inside her and then pulled out until just his glans remained gripped by her sphincter, and then he drove in again.

Penelope encouraged him, whispering obscenities in his ear, begging him to fuck her, to make her come. She worked her buttocks, her sphincter and her anus, doing all the things she knew drove him wild and was rewarded when he pulled her hard against him and came deep inside her. She came with him, spraying her hot spend on his belly.

They both moaned and cried out at the peak of their passion, holding onto each other, kissing fervently and spending their essence.

After; they in each other’s arms and softly kissed and caressed each other.

“I do love you. I’m not just saying it,” Penelope curled up against him.

“That works out just fine, because I love you too; with all my heart,” he whispered in her ear.

*****

Penelope and Bradley had passed Michael Kendal driving in the opposite direction as they drove to Austin. Not long after they passed, Michael pulled into a byway and took the stocking out of the glove compartment and tended to himself while looking at video on his tablet of him raping Bethany Stills. The head-mounted GoPro had worked a treat and he was able to splice the video so he could see their bodies on the bed and the POV of her face, her eyes filled with terror and then she inexplicably became confused and then surprised when he made her orgasm.

He cleaned up, hit the road and checked into his usual hotel in Balwyn City. He had meetings all the next day at Kent Pharmaceuticals attending product reviews but he had plenty of time afterwards to go hunting.

Ellen Wright was a head trauma nurse at Saint Barnaby’s Hospital in Balwyn and unfortunately for her she caught Michael Kendal’s eye during a seminar at Kent Pharmaceuticals, the topic being advances made regarding analgesics, antipyretics, sedatives, and muscle relaxants commonly used in trauma theatres.

These seminars were really just pitches to encourage prospective clients to trial and ultimately purchase the latest FDA approved products developed by the big drug companies. To Ellen it meant a paid work day away from the hospital grounds and free canapés and cocktails after the seminar.

Ellen was a buxom woman of thirty eight who was confident with her good looks and had sweeping raven hair, long shapely legs and a vivacious personality. She’d been married twice but it didn’t stick and for the last five years she’d been foot loose and fancy free. She had no kids and never regretted not having any. She liked to take long overseas holidays and was not averse to having a holiday romance or two but had no interest in a permanent relationship.

Initially Michael Kendal’s intent was to have one drink at the post-seminar mixer and then hit the bars and nightclubs and go hunting for his next victim but once again it appeared that his victim had found him.

Michael was taken with Ellen as soon as he saw her and made sure that he remained in earshot of her so he could eavesdrop but was careful not to engage with her directly. It was easy to do as Ellen was loud and gregarious and had not let a waiter pass her by without taking a drink off his or her tray.

When he had gleaned all he could without becoming obvious he left the soiree and went back to his hotel and went to work on his laptop finding out everything he could about Ellen Wright.

She had a Facebook page which he accessed and looked at a procession of pictures of her in various holiday venues around the world and in a few of them she was unashamedly accompanied by handsome men, some of them considerably younger than her. She was active on two dating sites and expressed that she was interested in uninhibited single men who were self-sufficient, generous and liked to carouse a little but was definitely not interested in a serious relationship. Her tagline read: Gregarious attractive single thirty-something woman looking for occasional NSA fun on neutral ground with likeminded men.

Needless to say she had had hundreds of hits and offers but she was very selective about whom she actually met.

She lived alone in a small but well-appointed house on the outskirts of the city centre which had very basic security system and she had a pet Schnauzer which she adored. The dog would not be a problem and the security system could be easily dealt with. Michael drove around to where Ellen lived and spent a few hours conducting surveillance.

Michael thought he could probably use a variation of the dog park scam he had used on Mary Whitehouse, especially as Ellen was a dog lover. If he could convince her to let him into her house the security system would not be a problem. He hacked into Saint Barnaby’s Hospital computer system and accessed their personnel database and found Ellen Wright’s work roster.

Once again he was in luck. She was working the next day and then had two rostered days off. He opened his rape kit and double checked everything was in order. The lingerie and heels he had purchased for his next victim was still in its packaging so he unpacked it and put one set of everything into the large Ziploc bags ready for use and laid the other set aside for his own personal use later.

He packed everything back into the trunk of his hire car and drove around the city until he found a suitable vehicle parked in a long term parking lot and stole the plates.

Now he was ready. He would spend the next day attending to business and if all went well he would spend the next night and most of the next day attending to Ellen Wright.

The next evening he waited until he was certain that she was home and settled in for the evening and the street was clear. It was dark and cold and the streets were uninviting which worked in his favour. Michael was dressed in his tracksuit, beanie and gloves with his fanny pack around his waist and held a dog leash in his hand.

The motion activated security light came on as he approached Ellen’s door but he was prepared for that; a fringing hedge in the front garden concealed the front door from the street. He heard someone approach the door and an eye obscured the lens of the peephole.

Michael held up the dog leash, shrugged his shoulders and gave a conciliatory grin. He had lost his dog.

The door opened but only as far as the security chain and Ellen’s face appeared in the gap. Her Schnauzer began to yap and Michael turned on his most brilliant smile. He held up the leash.

“Look I know it’s a long shot but I was walking my Blue Terrier along the street and foolishly let her off the leash to do her business and she ran off and I wondered if my dog might be here in your yard,” Michael began.

He’d done a little research and found that the Blue Terrier was a related breed to the Schnauzer. He saw the look of concern cross Ellen’s face that only a dog lover could have at Michael’s predicament.

“I’ve searched up and down the street already and can’t find her. I don’t want to disturb you and there is no need to come outside; I’d just like to go and have a look,” he gave her a look that said he was sorry to bother her.

Fortune smiled on him again when Ellen’s Schnauzer stuck it’s snout out the door and he bent down and patted it. The dog was friendly and showed her appreciation by licking his hand.

“Of course you can look honey, I’ll turn on the security lighting and open the side gate,” Ellen smiled at him.

“Can I give your dog a treat?” Michael was fussing with the dog now that she had taken the chain off the door.

“She’s had dinner but one little treat won’t hurt,” Ellen said.

It was the last thing she ever said because rather than a doggy treat, Michael produced his chloroform solution drenched dust mask from his fanny pack and with lightning quick reflexes he pressed it to her face and held her head there with his other hand. She struggled briefly, being a bigger woman, but she soon succumbed.

The stupid mutt followed them inside, all excited, thinking it was a game. Michael closed the door and dragged Ellen into the kitchen, the dog tagging along. He lured the dog into the pantry and silently took care of it.

Now that he had control of the situation he took a while to think things through. Michael was aware that he was letting his lust take over his intellect and he didn’t want to make any mistakes that would get him caught, Texas still had the death penalty.

He put on his pantyhose do-rag and surgeons gloves to prevent him shedding any hair or leaving any prints and attended to Ellen Wright. He dragged her into the bedroom which thankfully was on the same floor; she was a big woman. He unceremoniously dumped her on the floor and took a syringe from his fanny pack and looked at the measuring gauge. Now that he had hefted her, Michael realised that he had underestimated how much of his special potion he would need to use on Ellen.

He took out the vial of neuromuscular blocker and plunged the needle into it and topped up the syringe to what he estimated was the required dosage. As soon as Ellen showed signs of rousing he plunged the syringe into her and sat beside her waiting for it to have the desired effect. He watched her eyes begin to focus and then fill with horror.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he softly stroked her raven hair.

“Well don’t worry Ellen we are going to have a nice time together; I’m sure you will enjoy it,” he smiled at her and saw the sheer panic in her eyes.

He turned off all the lights in the rest of the house and pulled the curtains closed. He checked the alarm and saw the red light burning on the LED above the word unarmed then he turned off the motion-activated security light above the front door. He put on his woollen gloves and beanie and walked casually over to his car and drove down Ellen Wright’s driveway and parked at the rear of the house under an enclosed car port. The hedges surrounding the house shielded him from prying eyes but he kept all the lights off and was as quiet as possible as he unloaded his suitcase and propped it against the back door.

Michael went around front and let himself back inside, closed and locked the door, and went through the kitchen to the back door and hefted his rape kit into the kitchen. He rested awhile and then stripped naked and put on his spandex bodysuit and a fresh pair of latex gloves and lay out all the items he would need on the kitchen counter.

Michael lifted Ellen onto the bed and stripped her. She was tall, had large breasts and a clipped bush; a magnificent specimen. He clipped the garter belt around her waist and rolled the nylons up her legs and clasped the welts to the garters. He was glad that he had bought the extra-long size stockings. He pulled the nylon panties up her legs and fitted them around her buttocks with a little difficulty but soon had them smoothed to his satisfaction and then fitted the flimsy brassiere which barely contained her breasts.

It was all appearance over function anyway. The bra, panties and stockings were navy blue which had not been easy to find and he had given up trying to find blue high heels in the large size he wanted and had settled on black.

He bought his cosmetics kit over to the bed and applied foundation, finishing powder and heavy black eyeliner to Ellen’s face followed by purple and mauve eyeshadow, black mascara, rouge and the two-coat bright-red lipstick he liked. He sprayed her liberally with Christian Dior Poison and put the little bottle aside because he intended to stay a while and would need to freshen up the perfume regularly.

Michael fitted the black high heels to her, squeezing her feet into them. Finally he fitted her with a stylised blue and white nun’s veil that he had bought from a cosplay shop.

He noticed that Ellen had been following him with her eyes whenever he came into her field of view. There was almost a look or resignation in them so he knelt next to her and showed her the huge bulge in crotch of his bodysuit. That induced a look of alarm.

“Not long now Ellen, I just want to have a good look at you before I fuck you,” he said to her cheerfully.

He posed her how he liked, with her arms by her side and her legs spread wide. He checked that the GoPro on the dresser was filming and had a good field of view and then fitted the head-strap and GoPro to his head. He unrolled four extra-large condoms and put them on the bedside table, then he unwrapped another and rolled it on his erect penis.

He surveyed Ellen Wright in all her glory. He could hardly wait to fuck her.

What he really wanted to do was take off the condom and pull down the hood of his bodysuit and lap at her cunt through the flimsy blue panties while he rubbed his cock on her silky nylons than plunge his naked cock inside her and kiss her fervently until he came deep inside her, but that would be suicidal.

There may be a way to do that with future sleeping beauties, but not this one. He would make do with kissing her and then when he was done with her he would wipe her lips and rinse her mouth out with his special DNA destroying oxygen-producing detergent. After that he would fix her makeup and lipstick and pose her and of course he would inseminate her with horse semen before he left.

“Ok Ellen. Shall we begin,” he watched the terror return to her eyes as he climbed onto the bed.

To be continued

Penelope, Silvia and Bradley arrived at Ellen Wright’s house to find the scene of crime team and medical examiner in attendance. They put on the Tyvek over-boots, hair coverings and latex gloves and entered the house being careful to tread only on the matting laid down by the CSI techs.

Bob Tanner met them at the door to the bedroom.

“It’s more of the same but different if you know what I mean,” he said by way of introduction.

“Ellen Wright. Thirty eight year old divorcee, works as the head trauma nurse at Saint Barnaby’s Hospital,” he said, emphasising the part about her being a nurse.

“A medical professional; is he hunting amongst his own?” Silvia asked.

Bob shook his head indicating that he didn’t know.

“Also, he killed her dog.”

“He’s taking risks, really spiralling up,” Bradley said.

“I wonder if he was stupid enough to leave any DNA this time. Did you check her lips; did he kiss her like the others?” Penelope asked.

“Looks like bruising on her lips too, he really went at her. No other marks on her except of course we will find vaginal bruising during the autopsy. The bad news is that he has almost certainly used the same substance as he used before to destroy any DNA he left,” Bob sighed.

“There is semen in her vagina but given what we found at the other crime scenes I am not hopeful.”

“We’ll work the scene hard, hoping he slipped up.”

“What the fuck is with the nun’s getup?” he asked Bradley Wilson.

“Part fetishic fantasy, part fuck you, is my take. He’s dressed all of his victims in a fetishic theme, but it’s only been the headdress, not a full costume. His fascination is with the lingerie; the colours differ, but the style is consistent,” Bradley concluded.

“Ok, let’s divide up the crime scene and get to work,” Silvia said to Penelope and Bradley.

*****

Michael Kendal had enjoyed the company of Ellen Wright, so much so that he spent the next day splicing together and editing the GoPro videos until he had it just how he wanted. He locked the door to his hotel room after pushing the do not disturb button and ringing reception to tell them that he wanted privacy for the next four hours.

He mounted the tablet, put on the makeup, the wig, the lingerie and the high heels, inserted the vibrating dildo and got comfortable on the bed. He put on the veil, flicked the switch on the vibrator and injected himself.

Michael came three times while he was paralysed. The head mounted GoPro was a great idea, he could see the wild terror in Ellen’s eyes and then the confusion and resignation when he made her orgasm; she was a good ride, worth the risk.

Driving home the following week after making some excellent sales, Michael was in a good mood. He was speculating about how he was going to fuck Felicity as soon as he got home but images of his oldest daughter Rebecca kept interrupting his thoughts.

Rebecca standing outside the church wearing that pretty red A-line skirt cut a few inches above her knees, her long legs shimmering in the weak winter sun, her breasts swelling the front of her blouse, her lips parted in a smile for her father. He was hard and needed to stop and use the stocking.

It was going to her birthday while he was at home and he had bought her a very expensive present, but she deserved it. She was a good girl.

*****

Which could not be said for Penelope Bishop who was on her knees in her kitchen fellating Bradley Wilson. They were naked except for Penelope’s black hold-up stockings and red high heels. They had come into the kitchen for a drink and a snack having been in bed all morning. Penelope had dropped a cookie ‘accidentally on purposely’ and had gotten on her knees to pick it up and had taken Bradley into her mouth. Bradley had not complained.

Penelope used her tongue and her freshly-lipsticked lips on Bradley’s proud manhood. He wondered why she had stopped to fix her makeup and put on heels on the way to the kitchen and now he knew why.

She was a magnificent sight, her blonde hair had been highlighted and styled in a new long bob with a sleek centre part that gave her hairstyle a neat and symmetrical finish. It framed her pretty face and emphasised her high cheekbones and dark smoky eyes from which smouldered her emerald-green eyes which were looking up into his. Her ruby-red lipsticked lips slid up and down his shaft as her tongue flicked across his glans.

Their daily workouts and her diet were paying dividends. Penelope’s 34B breasts were firm and her creamy alabaster flesh was toned, her belly now almost flat. She was not skinny by any means, her figure was curvy, her buttocks full but tight and her long legs clad in those sexy diaphanous black nylons drove him wild. She had put on her red heels and Bradley almost came by just looking at her. Between her legs her long slender cock was erect and dribbling pre-seminal fluid.

“Stop!” Bradley gasped.

Penelope smiled up at him, having expelled his cock and was holding it firmly, her long red-painted fingernails contrasting with the sleek flesh of his member.

“Why?” Penelope grinned up at him.

“Because I’m going to come,” Bradley smiled down at her.

“Good. I want my snack,” Penelope guided his penis back into her mouth and began to slaver at it.

Bradley groaned and looked down at the magnificent creature fellating him. She was smiling up at him with those beautiful eyes. She cupped his scrotum and gently squeezed and stroked it while she used her mouth expertly on his hard cock.

“Oh god! Now I am going to come,” Bradley groaned.

Penelope felt Bradley’s cock begin to convulse in her mouth and she quickly expelled it and squeezed it whilst she looked up at Bradley lovingly as his scalding semen sprayed across her face. Spritzes of Bradley’s cum caught in her platinum blonde hair, a rivulet spattered on her cheek and bridged her eyes, another shot across her nose and the final runnels of Bradley's spend smeared her red-lipsticked lips.

She smiled up at Bradley with a mixture of lust and devotion, his orgasm intensified as he watched his semen spatter over Penelope’s pretty face, Penelope squeezed very last drop of his issue into her mouth and then sucked him dry.

“Sometimes I like playing the whore,” she grinned up at him.

“But only with me,” Bradley smiled down at her cum-spattered face.

“Only with you,” she sighed.

Bradley helped Penelope to her feet and dabbed at her face with tissues, removing the worst of the offending substance caked to her face.

“I’m going to wash by face and fix my makeup. Fix me a snack and a drink will you?” Penelope was about to walk away when Bradley gripped her upper arm and pulled her back.

“You’re not going anywhere Penelope!” he growled.

Bradley put his hands around her waist and hefted her up onto the kitchen bench.

“Why Mister Wilson whatever are you doing?” she sounded like a naughty schoolgirl.

Bradley lowered his face to her groin and took her cock into his mouth.

“Mister Wilson that is very naughty… Oh my god!” Penelope’s penis began to pulsate.

*****

Michael Kendal observed his oldest daughter with a critical eye as she stood in the hallway having returned home at the stroke of midnight. It was her eighteenth birthday and she was allowed a few privileges now that she was an adult.

Rebecca was wearing full makeup: red lipstick, dark eyeshadow and black eyeliner and mascara. She looked mature and he had to admit it, sexy.

She was wearing a short skirt, not quite a mini but it showed a lot of leg; and what legs she had: long, well-defined and sheathed in sheer flesh-toned pantyhose. Her blouse was tighter than she would normally be allowed to wear it and her pert breasts pushed at the bodice. The pièce de résistance were the Christian Louboutin high heels she had begged for and been given by her father as her birthday present.

Felicity had told her daughter that she would only be allowed to wear the heels and dress this way on rare and very special occasions.

Rebecca had just returned from a night out with her friends, coming in right on the midnight curfew. They’d had a family dinner first at an expensive restaurant and then Michael had given her two hundred dollars and told her to enjoy herself with her friends but to heed the curfew.

Felicity was very tired after the dinner and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Michael had offered to wait up for their daughter and Felicity gratefully retired, unaware that Michael had slipped a little something into her drink that would knock her out for the evening.

“Oh daddy, thank you so much!” Rebecca rushed up to her father and hugged him.

He held her close, smelling her perfume.

“You deserve it honey; you’ve been a good girl,” Michael hugged her to him, feeling the swell her breasts press against him.

“The shoes are wonderful, everyone was jealous,” her eyes sparkled.

Rebecca went to kiss him on the cheek but he turned and put his mouth on hers. She wasn’t too concerned; her father often kissed his daughters on the mouth.

“Now for the serious part. You are a grown woman now and I’m sure that your mother has had that talk with you and with the internet and everything out there I’m sure you already know all about the ways of the world.”

“As you are aware, there are men out there who desire you; who want you, who want to do things to you because you are a beautiful woman,” Michael was holding her hand while he addressed her.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful daddy?” his daughter looked at him with love in her eyes.

Michael was so controlling and such a powerful force and influence in the lives of his wife and his daughters that they loved him unconditionally and lived to please him. Making him happy was part of their core being.

“Because this is a special night I’m going to take you to my workshop and show you something,” Michael said with grave formality.

Felicity and the girls were not allowed in their father’s workshop and he kept it locked when he was away.

He led Rebecca into the workshop, locking the door behind him. Rebecca was surprised to find that the ‘workshop’ was really more of a study, a den; a man-cave would better describe it. There was a workbench with an array of chemicals, test-tubes and beakers. There was some shelving with tools and other pharmaceutical paraphernalia on them but most of the room was expensively furnished and carpeted. Michael had adjusted the lighting and turned off the ceiling lights and switched on two standard lamps that effused a soft glow.

Michael led Rebecca to a large overstuffed recliner with a side table beside it, across the room from a large flat-screen TV.

“Sit,” he gestured at the recliner.

Rebecca sat and her skirt slid up her thighs to the top of her legs. Rebecca made no effort to tug it down; she was only with her father after all.

Michael went to the wet bar and made two drinks and came back to the recliner.

“Here, have your first ever drink on this special day. Do not tell your mother or your sister,” he smiled at her duplicitously as he gave Rebecca the drink.

“Wow, thanks dad!” Rebecca smiled up at her father.

She took a sip of the sweet wine and was surprised to find it quite palatable.

“Let me sit,” Michael said; his voice thick.

“But where will I sit?” Rebecca was confused but she stood up.

Michael patted his thigh and grinned at her.

“Come and sit in your daddy’s lap like you used to.”

Rebecca put down her drink and climbed into her father’s lap. Once again her skirt rode up and Michael was aware that his daughter’s nylon-pantied buttocks were pushing into his crotch.

Rebecca reached for her drink and Michael's hand rested lightly on her thigh. She snuggled up to her father, wriggling her buttocks as she did. She could feel his hard muscles under his clothes and smell his aftershave and his raw maleness. Rebecca was almost certain that she could feel an erection pushing into her buttocks through his pants.

“So you really liked your birthday present?” Michael began to lazily circle his fingers on her silken thigh.

“I love them daddy,” she turned so he could see her face and she smiled at him.

“So you were saying that there are men who want to do things to me daddy; what things?” she gave him a knowing smile.

“I think you know,” his hand slid under her skirt.

“But I promised you that I wouldn’t do anything like that daddy. I’m a daddy’s girl, I belong to you,” she closed her eyes in expectation.

Michael closed his lips over his daughter’s mouth and his fingers found her cleft through her flimsy nylon panties.

She was moist.

Felicity woke up around four am. She was groggy and incredibly thirsty. She was going down to the kitchen to get a drink when she encountered Rebecca on the staircase coming up. They stopped on the landing and stared at each other.

Rebecca’s makeup was a mess, her lipstick smeared. Her blouse was misbuttoned, her nylons full of runners and her hair tussled. She was carrying the heels, which had cost Michael upward of a thousand dollars, by the ankle-straps and she reeked of Christian Dior’s Poison. Felicity slapped her daughter across the face. Rebecca just smiled insolently and continued up the stairs to her bedroom.

When Felicity got to the ground floor she could see light under the door of her husband’s workshop. She wiped a tear from her eye.

*****

Gary Rasmussen held court in syndicate room two.

“We’re getting nowhere with this case and we are under pressure from the Governor,” Gary said bitterly.

“That’s not fair Gary. We are doing the best with what we have. We have started interviewing everyone who attended the seminar at Kent Pharmaceuticals where we know Ellen Wright spoke to several men at the post-seminar mixer and we are hoping to pick up a lead,” Silvia replied.

“Yeah, but she could just have easily been targeted before or after the seminar. Christ, the guy might just drive around looking for attractive mature women and stalk them. We don’t really know how he selects his victims and he leaves very little evidence for us to use,” Gary raked his fingers through his hair.

“The hotline has slowed down and every lead we followed from the tip line has produced zip.”

“Even the animal semen leads us nowhere; anyone can purchase it.”

“Does anyone have any ideas?” Gary paced up and down the room.

“A serial killer keeps killing until one of four things happen: he is caught, he dies, he kills himself or he burns out. Our guy might even move interstate. We know he’s spiralling up and he’s smart so he’ll know that too,” Bradley Wilson said.

“There is one option we have left but it’s dangerous. We bait him. We use the media again. We tell the media specific lies to anger him, to get him to refute the lies either by contacting the media or contacting law enforcement.”

“And it’s dangerous because…” Gary asked.

“It could backfire. He could go on a murderous rampage, kill his family, commit suicide,” Bradley espoused.

“I like the idea of him committing suicide,” Gary sighed.

“But the murders go unsolved unless he leaves a confession,” Silvia chimed in.

“It gets worse I’m afraid. Bradley; the Feebs want you back. They say, and probably rightly so, that you have done all the profiling there is to be done on this case. The San Antonio field office is snowed under with Federal cases so they claim, so you need to wrap up what you have and hand it over to Silvia and Penelope,” Gary said reluctantly.

The look exchanged between Bradley and Penelope was not lost on Silvia and Gary.

“Jesus you two have the worst kept secret in Balwyn. Why don’t you just come out publicly,” Silvia said.

Bradley walked over and kissed Penelope chastely.

“I love Penelope and she loves me. Going back to San Antonio is not going to change that,” Bradley took Penelope’s hand in his.

“You two take the rest of the day. We hold off on the baiting thing until we get the results from the Ellen Wright crime scene and if there’s nothing there we will consider it,” Gary bowed his head and left the room.

“Get the fuck out of here you two. I’ll see you tomorrow Penelope,” Silvia sat down and began to sift through case files.

Penelope helped Bradley pack up his things and they made to leave.

“Get over here you hunk. You ain’t leaving with my second best girl without saying goodbye,” Silvia actually had tears in her eyes when Bradley gave her a hug.

As they got to the door Silvia called out.

“Hey Penny; this one’s a keeper so don’t fuck it up. One word of advice; men have two emotions, hungry and horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a sandwich,” Silvia laughed heartily at her own joke.

Penelope and Bradley spent the rest of the day in bed and when it was time for him to leave Penelope was determined that she wouldn’t cry but she did. She clung to him until he had to prise her free.

“I love you. I’ll call you every day and every weekend I’m coming here to Balwyn so don’t rent out my parking space,” Bradley joked.

“When this case is over I’m taking some time off, I’m owed a shitload of long service,” Penelope said.

“Good. We’ll talk about travel plans,” Bradley opened the door to his car.

Penelope just nodded. She was afraid that if she tried to speak she would break down.

Bradley drove to San Antonio one handed, twirling the engagement ring he had recently purchased in his coat pocket with his free hand.

*****

There were quite a few changes in the Kendal household and Felicity did not like them one bit.

Rebecca still presented herself to the world as a demure, virtuous, studious and contrite young woman but in the confines of the Kendal house she had a totally contradictory persona.

The first time she came out of her room wearing a miniskirt, nylons, heels and full makeup Felicity flew into a rage but Michael interjected.

“Rebecca is a woman now. I have allowed her certain freedoms which you are not to counter,” Michael said.

Rebecca flirted openly with her father sometimes even sitting in his lap when they watched TV. Michael regularly took his eldest daughter to his workroom and locked the door and Felicity knew what they were doing in there.

Bizarrely, she became competitive with her own daughter. Felicity too presented herself as the demure housewife outside of the house but when she was home she started to wear the fetish lingerie around the house, short skirts, heels and heavy makeup.

Michael knew that the changes in his household were dangerous should anyone from outside the family suspect what was going on; but that was unlikely. He still ruled the house with an iron fist and the three women in his life were devoted to him.

Michael was aware of the many cases where families lived in incestuous relationships inside their family home whilst presenting to the outside world as upright respectful citizens. This new twist was very appealing to him. He could have sex with his daughter whenever the urge took him. Felicity was not particularly happy with the arrangement, but she condoned it. She too was his virtual sex slave and often begged him to administer his incapacitating agent to her and use her. He witnessed her multiple orgasms as she lay there unable to move and afterwards she described to him the feelings of incredible pleasure and gratification she felt being at his total mercy while he defiled her.

Michael was pragmatic and intelligent. He knew that if he kept hunting women in Balwyn he would likely slip up and get caught. The police had already interviewed him as part of their investigation into the rape and murder of Ellen Wright, but he was not a suspect. They just asked him if he’d seen anyone behaving suspiciously at the seminar they had both attended.

He had received several offers of employment from other pharmaceutical companies and he was now seriously considering them. He had narrowed them down to one company in California and another in Minnesota. Of course he felt no need to involve his family in his deliberations, he would decide where they lived and they would obey him and comply with his wishes.

Michael decided he would make one last trip to Balwyn to tender his resignation personally to the management of Kent Pharmaceuticals and take one more victim. Then it would be time to move on to greener pastures.

*****

The long distance relation between Penelope and Bradley was working but it was frustrating to say the least. After only three weeks Penelope found that she missed Bradley so much that her compunction to drink to ease the solitude and heartache was becoming compelling. To make matters worse she and Silvia were making very little progress in the Sleeping Beauty Killer case.

She knew what she was about to do would likely get her fired but she didn’t care. She wanted the case closed so that she and Bradley could have a life together.

She called Meadow Dupree at Fox News and requested an interview.

“I have here in the studio Lieutenant Penelope Bishop, a homicide detective with the Balwyn police department,” Meadow made the introduction to the camera.

“Penelope Bishop was the police officer who stunned the city of Balwyn nearly fifteen years ago when she exposed levels of corruption in the Balwyn PD that extended to the very top including the Chief of Police and the Mayor. She shot the Chief of Police in a shootout at a meth lab. Isn’t that so Penelope?” Meadow gave a beatific grin to the camera.

“Yes that’s true Meadow but I’m here to talk about current events, not the past,” Penelope wanted to get the interview on track.

“You were also the first transgender policewoman in Balwyn, isn’t that right?” Meadow’s smile did not falter as she twisted the knife a little.

“Yes that’s true, but again, not why I’m here,” Penelope was getting frustrated.

“So then Penelope; why have you come forward to give this interview today?” Meadow began.

“Because we have a serial killer on the loose and I hope that by giving this interview someone in your audience might hear me say something that causes them to realise that they have information which can help catch this man,” Penelope said.

“I interviewed Agent Bradley Wilson from the FBI a while ago who told me everything that the PD was prepared to release regarding the Sleeping Beauty Killer, or so he told me,” Meadow leaned into Penelope, encouraging her.

“Well I am prepared to release more compelling evidence that until now has been withheld and might just ring a bell with one of your viewers,” Penelope wanted to get to the point.

“Well let’s hear it,” Meadow spread her hands in a gesture of grandiosity.

“Ok. Well first off we know that the perpetrator is impotent. He is incapable of sustaining an erection or ejaculating; prostitutes we have interviewed, who we suspect the killer used for convenience before his compunction to kill became overwhelming, report that he has a micro-penis. We think this is what makes him angry, what drives him.”

“Our profiling also suggests that he is a crossdresser, in other words he likes to dress like a woman and that is the only way he can gain sexual satisfaction.”

“Interesting,” Meadow encouraged Penelope to continue.

“We suspect we are looking for an impotent mommy’s boy with a tiny penis, someone who has an Oedipus complex and can only satisfy himself by dressing up like his mother with whom he had a love–hate relationship. He’s weak willed. Presents to the world as a confident masculine male but is really a sissy boy who hates his mother and hates all women,” Penelope stopped to take a sip of water.

Her hands were trembling a little. She had crossed the line and was likely going to be suspended or more probably fired.

“And that’s why he kills them?” Meadow interjected.

“Exactly… and the retro lingerie that he makes the victims wear is reflective of the underwear his mother wore?” Meadow asked.

“Are you implying that he had an incestuous relationship with his mother?” Meadow could hardly contain herself; she had the scoop of a lifetime.

“How do you think it went?” Penelope asked.

“Oh it went fine, you looked great and I always look good,” Meadow smirked.

They were sitting in Meadow Dupree’s dressing room after the interview.

“Oh! That reminds me; I have something for you,” Meadow arose and foraged around in the dressing table drawer.

“Here they are,” Meadow held up a pair of Wolford sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose.

There was a runner in one leg and a small hole in the crotch.

“Give these to your boyfriend will you?”

“He might as well have them, he paid for them,” Meadow tossed the garment at Penelope.

As a reflex action, Penelope caught them.

Penelope looked at the pantyhose confused; she looked up from the garment to Meadow and frowned.

“I believe the joke going around Police Plaza at the time was that he accidentally fucked me,” Meadow smiled.

“Well it was no accident; he seemed quite determined and quite aware of what he was doing.”

“As it turns out he’s quite adept at fucking; but you’d know that. Don’t feel bad; if I want someone to fuck me they generally do.”

Penelope was stunned and confused.

She got up off the couch and made her way to the door; she absentmindedly balled up the pantyhose and shoved them in her coat pocket.

As Penelope opened the door Meadow called out to her.

“Feel free to suck a few cocks on your way to the car park, you tranny whore.”

Meadow felt she had finally reaped her revenge on Bradley Wilson.

*****

Michael Kendal was livid. He had seen the interview with Penelope Bishop on TV and it took all of his control not to throw something at the television set. He wanted to rant and rave, to strangle Penelope Bishop and Meadow Dupree. He knew that the police had released the web of lies to enrage him; to make him do something stupid out of anger that would get him caught, but he controlled his temper and took some time to think.

He really wanted to fuck his sleeping beauties while he was naked and unsheathed; to fully enjoy them. When he was planning his first killings he was tempted to fuck his victims bareback and use his patented oxygen-producing detergent; but he could not be certain it would destroy all of his DNA or he might inadvertently drip semen on the sheets. It was just too dangerous.

If he could get a victim somewhere where he had control of the scene, he would be able to do so, to fuck her while he was naked, press his flesh against hers, kiss her, lick her, fuck her and come in her. The problem was disposing of the body.

Michael decided his last victim in Balwyn would suffer such a fate. He had the perfect place in his workroom at home. He would be able to take his time and clean the place thoroughly before the removalists came next week. His family had whined a little at first; but when he told them the adventures that awaited them in California they had changed their tune. He had placated Rebecca by telling her that she could leave school and get a job, provided it was a job he approved of. This had gone some way to appease Felicity. Because Michael’s new job did not involve travelling he would be home every night and she and he could play their special game. A game he daren’t play with anyone else.

*****

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Penelope sat in the Chief of Detectives office with Silvia sitting beside her.

“Did you know about this? Did you put her up to this?” Gary Rasmussen turned on Silvia.

“She knew nothing about this. It was all my idea,” Penelope interjected

“Well I have no choice Penelope. The Chief of Police wants your ass. You are herewith suspended, hand me your weapon and your shield,” Gary held out his hand.

Penelope stood and handed Gary her Glock and her gold shield.

“Look. Take some time. Go to San Antonio and see Bradley. I’ll call you when the heat dies down ok?” Gary opened the door for the two women.

Outside the office Silvia gave Penelope a hug.

“You crazy tranny bitch, go and see Bradley, hopefully he will fuck some sense into you,” Silvia smiled wanly

“You loopy lezzie, go and buy yourself a dress or skirt and get out of those boring pantsuits for once,” Penelope smiled back at her partner.

“There are guys in the Plaza who are taking bets that you don’t even have an ass or legs and that’s why you always wear pantsuits,” Penelope turned and started walking away.

“My ass and my legs are bodacious but none of those creepy cops are ever going to see them,” Silvia called after her.

Whilst driving home Penelope decided that she would drive to San Antonio first thing in the morning and her mind was elsewhere when she got out of her car. She never heard the man come up behind her; all she sensed was a sickly chemical smell before she blacked out.

She awoke on the back seat of Michael Kendal’s car and realised two things immediately. She was lying under a blanket or some other covering and also that she was paralysed. She could move her eyes and see, she could feel the coarse blanket on her face, but she couldn’t move a millimetre.

It was a long drive to Michael Kendal’s house but he was in no rush. The last thing he needed now was a traffic stop. He pulled over once and gave Penelope a drink using an intubated bottle and checked her vitals and then injected her again to keep her incapacitated. He was tempted to start fucking her now but he knew it would be a rash move and besides, the drive gave him time to savour all the things he was going to do to her.

He did lift up her skirt and stare at her panties and nylon-sheathed thighs while he masturbated into the stocking. He wondered why she didn’t have a bulge in her panties. He had never been with transgender woman but he was looking forward to it. It would be something different.

Penelope had never felt so afraid and so alone, not even when she had been made to drive into the desert at gunpoint all those years ago. She took glib satisfaction that their profile of the killer was correct; he was tall and handsome. Penelope felt disgusted when he masturbated in front of her but not as disgusted as she’d felt later when he had pulled down her underwear and put her penis into a medical urine bottle and allowed her to pee.

“We don’t want you all messy when we get you home do we Penny?”

“Can I call you Penny? I think I can. Oh my, we are going to have so much fun!” he smirked before pulling the blanket back over her.

The look of abject terror in Penelope’s eyes made him hard. But she would keep.

*****

“Daddy says that you can become one of his special girls when you turn sixteen, just like me; that’s not even two years away,” Rebecca whispered to her younger sister.

“Is it really nice? What he does to you; is it really nice?” Chastity Kendal asked.

“I thought it was going to hurt, but it didn’t, it felt wonderful. Daddy makes you feel special while he’s doing it to you and it feels so sexy wearing the naughty lingerie. He even has toys that he uses on me that make me just want to explode with pleasure,” Rebecca explained.

“But the best thing, and he’s only just started doing this with me, is when he gets his syringe out and…” Rebecca didn’t get to finish her sentence before her mother ripped off the blanket that her daughters were snuggled under.

“Show me! Show me!” Felicity viciously twisted her daughter’s arm and there they were.

Three little puncture wounds in the crook of her elbow.

“And he told you he was going to start on Chastity when she turns sixteen?” Felicity hissed.

Rebecca folded her arms and looked at her mother contemptuously.

“You’re getting old mother. Daddy needs young and vibrant women in his life,” she said arrogantly.

Felicity, Rebecca and Chastity were staying a hotel on the outskirts of LA. At Michael's insistence they had made the five hour drive to LA to look at the new home he had rented and to check out schools for Chastity while Michael made his last trip to Balwyn to tender his resignation.

Felicity flew into a rage when she realised that her husband was using his oldest daughter as one of his sleeping beauties. That was Felicity’s privilege! To make matters worse he was already planning to fuck their youngest daughter.

“Get packed and get in the car! We’re going home! We’re going home now!” she screamed at her daughters.

*****

Michael Kendal drove his car into the two car garage and unlocked the outside entrance to his workshop. He carried Penelope Bishop inside and lay her down on a daybed in the corner. He stripped her naked and was amazed by her. She was a beautiful woman with outstanding attributes but she had a penis and a scrotum between her legs instead of a vagina.

“This is going to be different Penny. I’m going to enjoy sampling something new but you really shouldn’t have said all those nasty things you said about me to that bitch reporter on Fox News,” Michael dragged his rape kit from under the workbench.

He lay out the pink lingerie that he had purchased for his next victim to wear, he bought out his makeup kit and the red high heels, and then he prepared another syringe loaded the neuromuscular blocker and a tube of lubricant.

“I’m not going to need my bodysuit or those nasty condoms; I’m going to feel everything I do to you and so are you,” he clapped his hands together like an excited schoolboy.

Penelope could follow him with her eyes but that was all she could do. She wanted to scream, to strike out at him, but she couldn’t move.

Michael went through her purse and clothing. He had switched off and ditched Penelope’s mobile phone as soon as he had abducted her and there was nothing that really interested him in her purse. But when he found the Wolford sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose in her jacket pocket he got excited.

“Wow! These feel so soft and slinky and they even have a little hole torn in the crotch. I think these will come in handy, very handy indeed,” he grinned.

“Let’s get you prepared shall we?” Michael sat beside her on the daybed and began to apply the makeup.

Then he pulled her down so that she was lying on the bed and put on the garter belt, the stockings, the bra and the panties. Penelope felt like a puppet being tossed around on the bed while he dressed her. He slipped her feet into the high heels and spread her legs and put her hands by her side.

Penelope had seen enough of his victims to know what would be coming next.

Michael stripped naked, his erection standing rampant. He sat down and pulled on the pantyhose.

“Wow they really do feel good,” he giggled as he smoothed them along his legs.

“And now for the final touch,” Michael took the small bottle of Poison from his makeup kit and sprayed the cloying perfume liberally all over Penelope’s body.

Penelope knew from Michael Kendal’s profile that he received ultimate satisfaction from exercising control and inflicting terror on his victims. She knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him doing what he was going to do to her but she would try her hardest not to allow the pain or fear to show in her eyes. She knew it would likely be impossible, especially if he began to inflict pain on her, but none of victims had shown signs of being injured. Penelope set her resolve and waited.

“Ok Penny; you are indeed a very beautiful woman even if you are different; or should I say unique. This is going to be special for us both,” Michael applied lubricant to his erection and a generous dab to her sphincter.

“Here we go,” Michael lifted her legs by the ankles and opened them wide.

He positioned his glans against her sphincter and Penelope felt it nestle there. She watched his face intently as he slid himself inside her. Michael was quite big but the lubrication was more than adequate. It was such a haunting feeling, being aware of Micheal gripping her ankles and his cock sliding into her but not being able to react.

Michael fucked her vigorously for about a minute before he climaxed, she could feel his cock convulse inside her and watched his face screw up with the intensity of his orgasm. The first ordeal was over but she knew he was far from finished.

“Wow! That was really nice. You are nice and tight down there. Let’s take a little rest shall we and next time let’s see if we can’t get you a little more involved,” he grinned evilly.

“With the others, I was almost certain I could see them orgasm, see it in their eyes, but with you there will be a physical response. I can hardly wait,” Michael sounded very excited as he fussed around on his workbench.

*****

Felicity Kendal dropped the girls off at Rebecca’s best friend’s house, explaining to the friend’s mother that she need a little alone time with her husband.

The woman nodded knowingly. It is said that moving house is more stressful than divorce and the woman sympathised.

Rebecca complained about being left behind but she was mature enough not to air their family’s dirty laundry in public. She tried calling home but no one answered. Having established to herself that her father was likely still in Balwyn she relaxed and joined the other two girls who were watching Netflix.

Felicity hopped into the family ‘people mover’ and sped off.

*****

Michael ignored the sound of the phone ringing inside the house. He had more important things to attend to and besides he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. Let the answering machine get it.

“Here we go, let’s try this,” Michael took a handful of lubricant and began to stroke Penelope’s cock.

He was lying beside her and had turned her head to could kiss her and rub his pantyhose-clad thigh on her stocking-sheathed legs, she could feel his hard cock pressing on her thigh.

Michael’s tongue slipped into her mouth and it was the strangest feeling, she could not reciprocate but she could feel it exploring her mouth. His sustained presence rubbing against her, kissing her and stroking her penis began to have the desired effect. Despite her reluctance there was nothing she could do to stop herself from becoming aroused.

“You like it don’t you, you little whore,” he whispered in her ear and then nibbled on her earlobe.

He squeezed and caressed her hard cock and shards of pleasure raged through Penelope’s body despite being incapacitated. He kissed her again, using his lips and his tongue on her, whilst rubbing his nylon-clad thigh on her body.

“I think you’re ready sweetheart,” he turned her face upright and kissed her again and then opened her legs, lifting them so he could climb in between.

Michael slid into Penelope whilst continuing to stroke her hard cock. Beads of precum leaked from her glans and he rubbed the viscous fluid into her phallus. He stared into Penelope’s icy green eyes and he could see the pleasure she was trying to hide.

“You like it don’t you? You’re no different to all the other whores. You’re no different to my mother,” he sniggered.

And Penelope didn’t like it but there was no denying that she found the experience extremely pleasurable. Having the hard-bodied handsome man between her thighs, pushing his cock deep inside her, his glans pressing on her prostate while he stroked and squeezed her cock was producing the effect Michael desired. Penelope could not prevent her body’s reactions to his ministrations.

Michael kissed her passionately and pressed himself hard against her, she could feel his penis swelling inside her and, god help her, she could feel her own orgasm approaching. Michael could sense that she was close to coming and lifted his body away from hers a little; he didn’t particularly want her cum to get on him.

She came when he did too, holding her tight, fucking her hard, kissing her and stroking her hard cock as it sprayed jewels of semen which pooled on her belly. Michele’s hot semen flooded her back passage intensifying her orgasm.

Tears ran down Penelope’s face, she hated herself for letting this man do what he was doing to her, even as one of the most intense orgasm’s of her life wracked her body, she felt shame and disgust.

Michael rutted against Penelope, expending the last of his seed and then he climbed off her.

“Well that was lovely. I know you enjoyed it just as much as I did. We will need to clean you up a little and fix your makeup before we go again,” he looked into her eyes, grinning.

Penelope felt waves of resignation, disgust and dread. She knew that he was far from finished with her; he would ravage her for another few hours before he finally killed her. She almost looked forward to the needle sliding into her arm for the final time, delivering the hotshot and ending her ordeal. Penelope realised that the other women must have felt the same way.

Michael once more fiddled on the workbench and then he approached her with a tube of lipstick.

“Let’s get you fixed up shall we?” he smiled when suddenly a dark cloud crossed his face.

Penelope heard footsteps approaching from inside the house, the click-clack of high heels on tiles, and then someone knocking on the door that connected the house to the workshop.

“What the fuck now?” Michael went to the door and opened it.

Felicity Kendal stood there, still dressed in her travelling clothes.

“How could you?” she cried.

“How could I what?” Michael held the door half open, Felicity could not see inside the room.

“I condoned what you are doing with Rebecca; I will even let you have Chastity if you want her. But you can’t share our special most scared thing that we have between us with them. It’s ours! Every other woman who experiences that magnificent adventure dies, I can live with that. But you can’t share it with our daughters!” she cried.

“You stupid woman! I can do what I like and with who I like. You should see yourself as being privileged to even be in my presence. Now go and tend to my daughters and wait until I summon you. Can’t you see I’m busy,” Michael snarled.

He turned his back on his wife and she drew the snub-nose thirty eight that she had been clenching tightly out of sight in her purse.

The first shot exited through his right eye and the second stopped his heart.

Felicity walked into the room and stared at Penelope lying paralysed on the daybed. She could see what had been happening and she was astonished and disgusted when she saw Penelope’s genitals.

“How could he do that with a thing like you,” she hissed and raised the gun and levelled it at Penelope’s face.

She saw the fear and abject terror in Penelope’s eyes as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

Felicity sobbed briefly and then turned the gun on herself and blew out her own brains.

Penelope lay there helpless and inert, screaming on the inside. The room reeked of cordite, blood, semen and Poison perfume.

*****

Bradley Wilson came into the bedroom and handed Penelope a steaming cup of coffee.

“How are you today honey?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“I’m fine. I wish people would stop fussing over me,” Penelope replied.

Penelope had endured two hours on the daybed inside the Kendal house until she had been discovered. The horror of lying there unable to move with two corpses nearby was indescribable. Knowing she had been raped but forced to orgasm during the ordeal made her feel like her body had betrayed her.

She had spent two days in hospital under observation, despite her protests, and during this time she was extensively interviewed. Penelope wanted to be back on the job, working the crime scene, closing the Sleeping Beauty case but Gary Rasmussen wouldn’t allow her near the Kendal house or to work the case any longer; she was now a material witness.

Silvia Bickle and Bradley Wilson had fawned over her, their pity obvious, and that made it worse. She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to get on with her life.

Penelope had shared all this with the Balwyn Police Department’s clinical phycologist during her post trauma counselling. She had also shared with the shrink her almost uncontrollable urge to drink. She wanted to drink to forget; to drink for oblivion.

The psych had told Penelope that she knew what almost every alcoholic knew; a drunk had to help them self, no one else could. She had given Penelope some literature about Alcoholics Anonymous and a copy of the Grapevine, which listed nearby AA meetings.

Penelope had discussed attending AA meetings with Bradley who was supportive.

“But I have to do it by myself,” she reiterated and Bradley agreed.

Penelope finished her coffee, showered and dressed and was ready to attend her first meeting. The afternoon open meeting was located in the basement of Saint Patrick’s church on Brindle Street.

Bradley stopped the car on the corner and kissed Penelope.

“Are you going to be ok?” he asked; concern in his voice.

“I honestly don’t know Brad. It’s like I’m living in a void. I can’t feel anything and I feel helpless,” Penelope sighed.

“You know I love you,” Bradley leaned in and gave her a kiss.

“That is the one thing I can definitely feel honey, and I love you too,” Penelope opened the door and stepped out on the street.

Bradley drove away, the engagement ring he had bought Penelope still in his pocket. He knew that now would be the absolute worst time to try to give it to her. He hoped with all his heart that she recovered soon so he could propose.

The day was cold but the sky was blue and the sun was shining; a prefect winter day. Penelope forced herself to smile. She set her resolve and was about to cross the street when a sudden commotion stopped her.

A door crash open across the street and a boisterous drunk came out of O’Malley’s Bar and Grill singing Danny Boy off key. The funk of draft beer wafted across the street and she wondered what liquor they served from the well. The neon beer lights in the windows and the drone of the jukebox seemed to beckon to her.

Penelope looked at the church and the small gathering of people hanging around the entrance to the basement, smoking cigarettes and talking animatedly.

Penelope took a quarter from her pocket and tossed it in the air, the sun caused it to glitter against the blue sky as it spun.

“Heads it’s Saint Pats; tails it’s O’Malley’s” she whispered to herself watching the coin spiral through the air.

The End

Author's Note: This story has drawn hardly any comments as the chapters have been posted; I'm hoping because, you, my readers were waiting until the end before commenting. I hope I didn't disappoint.

Once again I would like to thank my research team of Google, Wiki and Netflix and my avid readers who encourage me when I think I've let you down.

Any typos, syntax blunders, or errors in fact are attributable to me.

I hoped you liked my little ditty,

Michele