Geography of Murder (25 page)

This wasn't going to happen again. I'd make damn sure of that.

We didn't speak all the way home. He sat straight, eyes facing forward, his breathing steadyingas he fought to gain control. Control he was going to lose again very soon, even if he didn't know it yet.

At the house I shoved the front door open and entered, letting him trail in after me. I waited for him to take his shoes off and stack them in their place by the door. I pulled my boots off and hung my jacket up, taking my piece off and securing it in the wall safe I rarely used. I didn't want any accidents to happen tonight, and right now I could have killed him without blinking. Five seconds later I was glad I had put it away.

I turned around and found him staring at me. I could see in his eyes that he was stoned.

"What did you take?" I kept my voice deadly calm, letting him know the time for lying was past.

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"I—" He was going to try anyway. I squeezed his arm so hard he winced. "Coke," he said in a small voice. "It was only one hit."

"You think that matters? You think it matters how much you take?"

He shook his head, his shaggy, too long bangs falling in his eyes. That was the first thing I was going to take care of.

"Who did you buy it from?"

When he pressed his lips together I leaned into his face.

His nostrils flared.

"Who's your fucking dealer?"

He jumped. "Guy called Trip."

"I want his contact information." More hesitation. "Now, Jason."

He recited a cell phone number. After recording it I dragged him after me into the bathroom. Told him to strip then shoved him down on the toilet seat.

He twitched as though getting ready to bolt. "Move," I said, "and I'll cuff you."

I searched through my vanity for my largest pair of scissors. I wasn't gentle, but I succeeded in chopping off his hair without drawing blood. His eyes were wide with terror, but the truth is I never hurt him. I wanted to. I wanted to beat him so hard he'd never do anything so stupid again, but I didn't. My rage astounded me. It soared to heights I'd never experienced before. Reason and sanity fled as I savagely chopped the thick masses of hair off him. It was as though a red film lay over my eyes. My head throbbed. I wanted him to 243

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beg me to stop. We'd never carried our play far enough to require a safe word. Had that been a mistake?

Once most of his hair lay around his bare feet on the tile floor, I pulled out my electric razor and finished the job. His newly hairless scalp was a pink dome that reflected the overhead light.

When I was done with his head I did the rest of him, cleaning off the stubble that had returned from the first time I did this. Finally he stood before me, looking like a golden marble statue. My David. Golden and pure.

Before we could go any further I told him to get down on his knees and clean up his mess.

He was shaking now. I dragged him after me into the bedroom and without turning on the lights, gagged and bound him to my wall. No hood tonight. I wanted him to see his punishment.

He grunted and strained against his bonds at the first lash.

His dick was so stiff it rubbed against his belly, smearing it with fluid. I laid steady, even strokes along his back, buttocks and chest, taking care not to strike his face or genitals.

Everything else was fair game. His skin glowed pink, then red and his nostrils were bellowing in and out as he sucked in breath. Sweat gleamed on his hairless body and he humped the air. Before he could come I stepped back, stroking his chest and crotch with the head of my lash. He made a sound behind his gag and thrust his hips into the air. His eyes bugged out and he couldn't take them off my hand and the whip it held. My fury still vibrated through me. Wiping out reason and sanity.

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He was shuddering now, making strangled whimpers in his throat. Begging for release.

I spun around and left the room, closing the door and leaving him in total darkness.

I watched
Rear Window
and
Twelve Angry Men
, and drank two beers. Only then did I return to the bedroom.

Jason hung limply in his bonds, his arm muscles standing out in sharp cords. I pushed my thumb and forefinger under his chin and forced him to look at me. His eyelids fluttered and my heart broke. I wanted to take him down to hold him in my arms and tell him he would never hurt again. Instead I pulled my swollen dick out and stroked myself into readiness.

Without warning I rammed it up his ass. He went rigid with pain and climaxed, splashing thick cum all over himself and the floor.

I came seconds later. Afterward I slipped his bonds off and carried him to the bed where I slid him under the covers and rolled in with him, holding him tight, soothing his trembling muscles until he fell asleep.

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245

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

To say I woke up the next morning is a lie. I came
to. Once again every orifice and joint in my body ached.

I had nightmare flashbacks of darkness and pain that
made no sense until I regained full consciousness.

Then memory slammed into me with brute force clarity.

What Alex had done. What he had not done. Frantically
I sat up and searched the garbage beside the bed.

There were no used condoms, no torn plastic wrappers.

He'd fucked me without protection. He'd never done
that before. Was that part of his punishment?

What else had he done to me?

I staggered into the bathroom, bumping into walls and door frames and turned the light on, shielding my eyes from the explosion of light. I stared at the mirror, blinking several times before I realized it was me staring back. My hand went to my head and felt the smooth skin there. My God, what
had
he done? Further exploration revealed he had removed every strip of hair on my body except my eyebrows and eyelashes.

Even my arms and my pits had been shaved. There was blood between my legs.

Memories kept washing over me. The Vault. Rafe. The sexy bartender and finally Alex. The fury on Alex's face was permanently etched in my mind. I thought for sure he was going to shoot me or boot stomp me. Instead he'd hung me up in his make-believe dungeon, and tormented me for hours.

The savage pain of his final assault burned in my memory.

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But then, hadn't he gently carried me to bed? I remember his strong arms around me and whispered words as I fell into a chasm of darkness and pain.
I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt
you
.

So will the real Alexander Spider please stand up? Savage monster or caring lover? Without getting dressed I searched the house, but it was empty. Alex had gone into work and left me. I searched frantically for a note of anything that might explain when he was coming back. Nothing.

Reality kicked in. Left without a car, or any means to get out of here.

I had to go do some work for Phil. Now more than ever I needed the money.

Well, they say where there's a will there's a way. I took a hasty shower, the welts on my back and ass stinging from the hot water. I recalled all too clearly the whipping he had delivered inside and out. And I thought he had punished me before. I dressed and headed into the kitchen one more time.

In the fridge I found the leftover Stroganoff that Alex had obviously put away. The crock pot it had cooked in sat on the counter, encrusted with dried on stew. If he thought I was going to clean it out he was going to be sadly disappointed.

The man could fuck himself. I also pulled out the milk and filled a large bowl with cereal, which I wolfed down standing over the sink. I dumped the milky remnants in the sink without rinsing them. Then I went back in the fridge and pulled out a beer. I sat at the kitchen table and guzzled it down. Beer doesn't taste all that good after milk and cereal but I was game. So game I took another one when I finished 247

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the first. Then I had a nice buzz on and my muscle began to ache less and the pain in my ass hurt even less. So I had a third. Followed by a fourth. Now I was actually feeling pretty good. I didn't need Alex. I could get back to Santa Barbara myself. Wouldn't he be surprised when he came home tonight to find his compliant and thoroughly licked boy toy waiting his every kinky whim had gone ghost? I took a moment to imagine the look on his face when he realized I wasn't there.

Would he be sorry? Angry? Indifferent? Did I care?

Dammit, yes, I did. I wanted him to care so desperately I read meaning into the smallest action on his part. He smiled at me and I translated it into an expression of love. He hurt me and brought me pleasure beyond imagining and I thought it was a sign he felt like I did, instead of being plain old-fashioned sado-masochistic lust.

Back into the fridge which now contained no beer, I found some peaches and several kiwis which I shoved in a bag with a handle. I added a couple of cans of Red Bull to my bag and left the kitchen. I took my hiking boots since I had no idea how far I would have to walk. The freeway was a long way south of here. Well, I was strong. I could do it. One more trip to the bedroom where I dug out a flannel shirt which I put on under my jacket. If I was out late it got cold at night. Though I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't home by dark.

I took my binoculars because I wasn't leaving them behind. Since I didn't want to be accused of keeping his key and maybe breaking in at a later date I locked up and slid the key under a large planter out front beside the step. Probably 248

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an obvious place for a burglar to look, but that was Alex's problem, not mine.

There were no sidewalks the first part of my walk. But since the road wasn't busy I had no trouble walking in the roadway. Later, when it got busier there were sidewalks. It took me about forty minutes to reach the freeway, another ten to find an on-ramp where I stood watching the flow of traffic heading east toward Santa Barbara. A few vehicles passed me before I got up the courage to stick my thumb out. I was pleasantly surprised to get a ride within the first twenty minutes from a guy on his way to work. He gave me a sideways look and I realized he probably smelled the beer on me. It was a bit early for alcohol I guess. He then spent the next ten minutes telling me all the reasons I shouldn't hitch. I agreed with him then let the rest of his words roll in one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he could only take me as far as Las Positas Way near the Earl Warren show grounds. I thanked him, climbed out of his Malibu, and took up my position again

I never heard the car until it pulled up behind me. Gravel crunched and a single whoop startled me. I spun around and found myself facing a white CHP car, flashing red and blue lights chasing each other across the rear view window. A lanky, khaki-suited man climbed out of the vehicle and approached me, one hand casually on his thick belt, just above his weapon.

Oh shit, what now?

"Officer?" I made an effort to sound calm and polite.

"Want to tell me what you're doing out here, young man?"

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"Nothing."

"This is not a safe place to be, sir. Highway's not meant for pedestrians."

I shrugged. "I have to get to Santa Barbara for work. I ...

got stranded here." Great, try to explain that. Tell him one of his own kept me tied up most of the night and fucked me so hard I'm still having trouble walking.

He was staring at me and I realized aside from what was obviously a brand new head shave job, Alex had left me with red welts on my neck and throat. He frowned.

"Are you injured, sir?"

"No, I'm fine, really. I just need to get to Santa—"

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, sir." He stepped closer, growing more menacing. From there he must have smelled the beer. "Have you been drinking, sir?"

I knew better than to lie. I fudged instead. "I had one."

He didn't believe me. "Public intoxication and endangering others. Not a good place to be, son."

"And if you'll just let me go, I'll be out of your hair."

"I can't do that sir. I'm going to have to ask you to get into the car."

I held out my hands and he tensed. Then he saw my wrists and I knew I was in deep shit. My wrists were deep red and clearly showed signs of having been shackled recently. Before I had a chance to protest he had me up against the car door, frisked and handcuffed me.

He stuffed me into the back of his patrol car. The sound of the door shutting sent me tumbling into despair. I sat in the car, hands once more in restraints, hunched over to relieve 250

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the inevitable ache that set in my shoulders and radiated out to all parts of my already abused body. Could they toss me in jail for public drunk and disorderly? How long could they keep me? No way I'd be able to scrape together even a pittance for bail. I was pooched. So much for the job I just got back.

The CHP cop took the next exit off the freeway and turned back west. The highway patrol station was in the shadow of the 101, across the highway from the Amtrak station. The officer took a measure of pity on me as he led me into the low-slung gray and white building into the booking area.

"Is there anyone you can call, son? Someone who might come and get you?"

My first thought was a swift no, then I thought of the one person who probably would come and get me. He'd be furious I was here, even more furious I ran, but he'd come get me out.

Wouldn't he?

I opened my mouth to answer the CHP cop and closed it again. He looked at me with what I thought were kind eyes and I opened my mouth again and blurted out, "Detective Alexander Spider of the Santa Barbara police."