Hannah Bronto - Lovers in paradise

There was a momentary silence, and I used it to study the faces of my two colleagues. Jocelyn was clearly unconvinced, almost violently so, while Commissioner Moran was clearly interested.

"I don't know," he said. "I think maybe the damn idea has possibilities. I think maybe you've hit upon something."

"I'm not saying I think the rapist is a woman," I expounded. "I'm only saying can we overlook the possibility that he might be a woman?"

Commissioner Moran nodded. "You're right, of course, Mal. We have no choice but to investigate that as a possibility. Run everything you have back through the computer for a woman this time and see what kind of results you get. And get new lists from each woman – lists of women who might be suspects."

"There's also the possibility," I saw, "that if the rapist is a woman, the attacks might have been made by a known lesbian. Maybe we've been looking for the wrong kind of deviant all along!"

Jocelyn, who had been sitting by listening with her mouth opening progressively wider with each new step we took, suddenly exploded.

"Have you two lost your senses?" she wanted to know. "That idea is positively stupid, not to mention totally sexist. You're both expressing a typically male prejudice by even suggesting that a woman might have done it. No woman could have done that to another woman. Only a man knows how to hurt that deeply."

Her voice was rising shrilly until it seemed to catch her attention. She stopped to listen to it, and then she stopped altogether. Her eyes fluttered, as if she were looking inwardly at her own pain.

"Or a sick woman," I said softly.

Jocelyn stung back at me. "How about a sick man? And how about the fact that not one of the women even implied that the rapist was anything but a man? And how about the fact that every one of those women distinctly heard a man's voice?"

"Disguising your voice is a relatively easy thing to do," I pointed out. "It could have been done any number of ways. By tape recordings of a man's voice telling each of the women what to do. There are also devices that you can put in your mouth that will make you sound like the Commissioner, and he could be made to sound like you. It can be done."

The weight of evidence, if not reason, must have been frustrating for her. Jocelyn threw up her hands, as if in disgust.

"All right," she conceded. "You stick to your theories, and I'll stick to mine. And mine tell me that the rapist is a man."

I stared back at her a very long time before I answered. "And mine tell me we haven't got enough evidence yet for you to be that sure, this early."

The next few days were busy and frustrating: new leads were checked out, run down, and eliminated. Suspects were questioned, then released. Every bit of evidence was reevaluated in light of my theory, but nothing solid developed. It was another big and exhausting run-around, and by the end of the week we were no closer to a solution than we had been before I was struck by my startling new insight. If that's what it really was, and not, as Jocelyn suggested, "a desperate and hair-brained clutch at a few scattered straws."

Tired, depressed, and in desperate need of consolation and reassurance, I decided to drop off at Irene's apartment. Irene was Irene Marlowe, my girl friend, and one of the best fashion photographers in the Free Worlds. She was also an incredible lay, and that wouldn't be all bad in itself, especially after my abortive involvement with Jocelyn. Hell, even if Irene was away on assignment, the mere lure of her empty apartment and her huge but comfortable bed was temptation enough. I needed to get away from the case for awhile.

I shot uptown to her apartment. The roboserv doorman recognized me, and greeted me with a friendly, if not pre-programmed, hello. I closed my eyes in the antigrav shaft, and leaned back, allowing the cloud-like leisure of the shaft to do all the work. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew I was drifting past the three-hundred and twentieth level, twenty-five floor above Irene's apartment. With a disgusted kick of my feet, I "swam" across the shaft into the down stream and when I got to Irene's floor, I stepped off into the hallway.

"Open up," I said wearily to her door. It was programmed to admit me. "It's me."

Yawning, I walked into the apartment. I heard noise in the bedroom, so I, made my way toward it. The bed room door was open wide, and on top of her large bed was Irene and a man I'd never seen before. They were both naked, and they were sixty-nining. The man was on his back, and Irene was on top of him, with her face buried in his crotch. His thick round cock was buried to the hilt in her mouth.

"Oh," I said, yawning again. "Irene, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company."

Irene looked up from her work, popping the cock from her lips. "Mal," she said, sounding genuinely surprised and pleased. She held the man's swollen cock between her fingers, away from her mouth as she spoke, "This is a surprise! Where have you been?"

"Oh – work," I said, flustered and feeling a little out of place. "I didn't know you were entertaining someone. I guess I should have called…"

"Nonsense," Irene said. She climbed off the man, although continued to hold his cock, and she sat cross-legged on the mattress. The guy sat up, propping himself erect on his elbows, and stared at me. He had an enormous cock: it reminded me of the trunk of a tree between his widely-parted thighs. "You're always welcome here anytime, Mal, you know that. Call or no call."

"But you're busy…" I turned to leave.

"Mal, where are you going? Don't be silly. Stay and join us. Philip doesn't mind, do you, Philip?" She turned to the man with the huge cock. "Tell him."

"Of course not, old man," Philip said. He was stroking his thick long cock leisurely. "Do join us. You know the old saying: two cocks are always better than one."

I was tempted. My hardon was throbbing powerfully. Still, it really wasn't polite. "Oh, I don't know," I said hemming and hawing, hoping they would talk me into it. "You're right in the middle of something…"

"Mal…" Irene pleaded. "Please?"

"Come on, old man," Philip urged. "Your girl friend Irene is one hot cunt. I'm having trouble keeping he satisfied. What do you say we join forces? Between us we could probably make her come ten, twelve times!"

"Oh… that sounds sexy," Irene shivered delightfully. "Please join us, Mal?"

I sighed a big sigh. "Well… all right."

Irene clapped with glee. "Oh, wonderful… wonderful. Let me introduce you two first." She turned to the naked stud on the bed. "Philip, I'd like to introduce you to my boy friend, and the man I truly love more than any other person in the whole world – Malachi Browne, Mal meet Philip Watson."

I reached across Irene's naked body and shook Philip's hand. As I did so, Irene caressed my cock through my pants. "Pleased to meet you," I said.

"Likewise."

"I picked Philip up on assignment," Irene explained. "I saw him and I immediately got wet in my panties for him. He reacted to me the same way." She reached over and stroked his naked, saliva-wet cock. "Doesn't he have a wonderful cock? I just love it!"

"Why don't you two just continue what you were doing," I said, being my politest. "I'll get undressed and then I'll join you. Don't stand on ceremony because of me. Enjoy each other."

"All right," Irene giggled. "But don't be long!"

I laughed softly. "I won't be."

"It's a pleasure meeting you," Philip said. Then he moaned as Irene's soft wet mouth reclosed around the tip of his cock. "Oohh… Excuse me, please."

I stared at Irene. Her eyes closed with a silent flutter, and I watched as the unmistakable signs of excitement stole across her delicately featured face. Her ruby lips stretched wide, her teeth flashed, her tongue snaked out, and the swollen, pinkish column of Philip Watson's cock disappeared into her open, supplicating mouth.