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Chapter 7 Dating Nikki
“Let’s go out on a date,” said Nikki taking a seat in my lap. The fact she was wearing only bra and panty made her welcome, especially after she wiggled her bottom across my groin.
From her older sister, Nikki had learned that bargaining sex would result in wishes being fulfilled. And why not? She combined gorgeous looks with an awesome body and a libido that craved penetration in all forms. Winston had dubbed her, “Nikki the Nympho,” and he wasn’t wrong.
That was the suggestion that got the evening started. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic. While Nikki was an incredible sixteen year old fuck who wouldn’t hesitate to cater to my most bizarre requests for kinky sex, she wasn’t exactly someone whose company I craved. What did I have in common with a high school sophomore?
It was just the two of us Saturday night. Darlene was working a bachelor party at a downtown hotel. Her refusal to take Nikki along had occasioned an argument between the sisters.
“Why can’t you take me? I can fuck as well as you or any of your whore friends,” said Nikki staking her claim to slutdom while noting there is no age requirement to be a prostitute.
I was inclined to agree. Nikki expertise rivaled her older and more experienced sister’s, but Darlene had other concerns.
“This is a business not a game. And this is not my appointment. It’s April’s party and she’s got a full crew. Sometime when we’re short a girl I’ll see if I can get you in,” said Darlene loading her bag with condoms, lube, and a vicious looking strap on dildo. It was covered with rubber spikes. If she used that on the groomsmen, they’d be wearing Depends for the ceremony.
“April wouldn’t have to pay me. I’ll work for tips,’ said Nikki anxious to be tripled penetrated by drunken strangers.
I’ve been to my share of bachelor parties. At Winston’s which as best man I arranged and paid for, we had over thirty guys and five hookers. By the time dawn broke and we kicked the whores out, you could hear semen sloshing inside them when they walked. I paid each girl fifteen hundred exhausting my savings. However, they’d made almost that amount again in tips. They charge extra for going around the world or drinking your piss.
“April and the others wouldn’t go for sharing their tips; so forget it. Ask Simon to take you to a movie,” said Darlene ending the conversation by dumping her sister on me
“What movie do you want to see,” I asked handing her the Globe’s movie section. The possibility I would wind up seeing a chick flick crossed my mind.
“Let’s go into the city clubbing,” said Nikki working my crotch with her ass. “There’s a new place just opened up on Lansdowne Street. It’s called The Edge.”
“You have to be twenty one to get into Boston’s clubs,” I said. Nikki didn’t look her age let alone the legal one for bar hopping.
“I have an ID,” said Nikki.
“Security personnel at those places are experts at spotting fake Ids,” I said. My police career was already on shaky ground. Being arrested for attempting to take a minor into a night club was not the ending I desired.
“It’s not a fake. It’s a valid Massachusetts’s driver’s license,” said Nikki.
“Darlene told me you turned sixteen last month. How could you have a valid driver’s license that gives your age as twenty one?” I asked.
“I got it from the Registry,” said Nikki.
“Someone believed a birth certificate that stated your age as twenty one,” I said. Nikki didn’t look sixteen to me. Winston believes she’s really fourteen. That does not prevent him from showing up several times a week to hump her. He even insists she wear pig tails to incite his pedophilic urges.
The Division of Motor Vehicles AKA The Registry, the most hated and despised arm of state government, was known for the pleasure employees take in humiliating citizens seeking driver’s licenses based on fake documents. It also happens to be a felony though rarely prosecuted. Arrest followed by a semi-public strip that includes a deep tissue cavity search is considered sufficient punishment for those who cheat to drink before the legal age. One of my college dorm mates wrote a detailed description in his blog about the joys of having a sixty year old Registry officer slowly insert his arm in his bowels and shake hands with his prostate. He wound up sucking off said official to avoid an even deeper search.
“Show me your license,” I said expecting to find one of the obvious fakes sold around area high schools and colleges.
“Here, it’s valid. It’s in the computer,” said Nikki taking the complicated looking card out of her wallet and presenting it to me.
“How did you get this,” I asked after closely examining the license? It looked like the real thing and I was a cop with years of experience in detecting fake driver’s licenses. The Commonwealth had recently installed a new system funded by Homeland Security to produce a tamper proof license that met Federal Government’s standards. The system cost millions. The birth date on Nikki’s license calculated to twenty one years and two months.
Nikki didn’t answer my question. “I hate my picture.”
It was kind of dorky but I had seen worse. I walked over to my new laptop computer courtesy of Cynthia Rose and accessed a Web site that allowed the police to check Ids. I keyed in Nikki’s Social Security Number and learned that according to the state’s data base she was truly of age and the owner of a valid license.
“This guy at the Registry got it for me,” said Nikki looking pleased with herself.
Corruption is as much a part of government as taxes or laws. Someone at the DMV was engaged in serious felonious crimes. It wasn’t my case, but I was curious. “What exactly did you have to do to acquire this,” I asked handing it back to her.
“Screw him,” said Nikki who hesitated before adding, “And his wife and brother-in-law.”
“No money, just sex,” I asked?
“No, but I have to go to his place on Wednesday nights for the next eight weeks or he’ll delete the license from the system,” said Nikki.
“That’s it. No money exchanged hands?”
“No, just fuck the three of them. The wife was kind of fat, but she’s on Jenny Craig and trying to lose. So can we go, please?” said Nikki.
I am constantly being amazed by the attitude of young girls toward intercourse. I’m also curious. “What did you do with them?”
“Nothing special, the wife and I went down on each other while the guys watched. After we got each other off, they climbed aboard,” said Nikki.
“Anal?” I asked.
“Of course, they wanted us to felch,” answered Nikki rubbing my sweat pants covered cock. “Please take me. We can do anal all you want.”
I’m a pushover for sex crazed sixteen year olds who are into hardcore anal. Plus there was the Cynthia Rose case. Maybe a tour of Boston’s club scene would give me a better feel for what happened to her. I still had some contacts in that scene. Maybe one of them saw or knew something. “All right, go get dressed.”
“I’m going to wear the skirt you bought me,” said Nikki hurrying away.
It was after eleven when we got to the club. Having a ridiculously young girl on your arm is an ego booster. And when that girl looks as hot as Nikki, you can feel the envy. She’d gone all out to make herself look good for our “date.” The black Prada skirt hugged her bottom that was nicely elevated by a pair of high heeled strapped sandals. A flimsy top clearly stated there was no bra underneath. The term “Lolita” came to mind as I held the car door for her. She rewarded my courtesy with a crotch shot that revealed she had gone commando.
Lansdowne Street was crowded. There was a line in front of The Edge that stretched around the block. My police badge convinced the doorman to let us in. “Welcome to The Edge, Officer Westbrook. May I see your ID, Miss?”
Letting in the under aged can get a club shut down for thirty days, a financial disaster. Cop escort or not, Nikki had to prove she was twenty one. The doorman took a long look at her hard earned driver’s license placing the plastic card under a special light that verified the hologram.
“You’ve certainly aged well,” said the doorman.
“My Daddy takes good care of me. Don’t you Daddy?” said Nikki holding onto my arm.
“You and your Dad have different surnames,” said the astute doorman studying my badge.
“He never married my Mom. After he raped her, he dumped her,” said an even cleverer Nikki. “Mom talked this stupid doorman at the club where she danced into marrying her.”
“Interesting story, I’d like to hear more when I take my break,” said the doorman obviously getting a kick out of his repartee with Nikki.
“Daddy would love to tell you all about the rape. He beat the living shit out of Mom after he ass fucked her,” said Nikki carefully placing her license back in a tiny purse crowded with lube and condoms.
“You’re a lucky man to have such a beautiful and intelligent daughter,” said the doorman as he unhooked the velvet rope.
“Not to mention she sucks cock like a pro,” I said playing along. “Find us on your break. She’ll be more than happy to show you how talented she is.” I figured she owed him for the shit she handed him at the door.
“Anything to please you, Daddy,” said Nikki as we stepped inside the club.
Years ago as a college boy, the Lansdowne clubs were my Saturday night haunt. I went there to pick up girls. My taste for boys came later. Harvard, MIT, Tufts, BC, BU, Northwestern, and a host of smaller colleges were only a short ride on the T. Most of the time, I was successful not that it was all that difficult. I met some very interesting women several of whom opened me to new experiences. Thanks to the horny ladies of Lansdowne I had my first threesome, S&M session, orgy, and serious introduction to kink. She begged me to piss in her mouth. “Go slow, Simon. I want to swallow every drop.”
But I outgrew the place. Loud music and late hours lost their appeal when you have a demanding day job. I found other less stressful ways to get laid. And my sexual tastes expanded to the point most college girls would think me kind of creepy.
However, besides the clubs offering cheap beer and wide screen TV, several establishments had recently opened whose appeal was directed to an older crowd with money. A stiff cover charge kept out college riff raff except for wealthy expatriate students from South America and the Middle East.
“$40,” said the young girl inside the booth where you paid the cover. A push up bra lifted her silicone inflated breasts to a level you could set a drink on.
“I’ll get it, Daddy,” said Nikki pushing a hundred dollar bill through the window.
“You got a young daddy,” said the girl making change.
“I’m lucky. He’s a wonderful father and a terrific fuck,” said Nikki.
“You are lucky. My old man was lousy in bed. He only screwed me when he was drunk,” said the girl.
I wondered whether playing along with customer’s bizarre behavior was something management encouraged. Places like The Edge flourish on the outlandish. Twenty dollars bought you among other things, admission to a freak show.
I was only a few steps away from the booth when I heard a familiar voice.
“Simon Westbrook, welcome to The Edge.”
It was Arnie Claiborne. Arnie and I had gone to high school and college together. After we graduated, Arnie went to work for one of the big sports and entertainment companies. Last I heard he was in LA, managing a club on Sunset that catered to the Hollywood crowd. I hadn’t seen him in five years.
Arnie hugged me like we were better friends than I recalled. I introduced Nikki who wisely dropped her daddy shtick. Arnie ushered us to a corner booth where he removed the reserved sign. A waitress showed up to take our drink order.
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” said Nikki heading toward the dance floor.
“She’s gorgeous and oh so young,” said Arnie watching Nikki walk away. Nikki had the kind of tight little ass you pictured your cock and tongue deep inside.
“But wise beyond her years,” I said.
“How’s the cop business,” asked Arnie?
“In case you haven’t heard, I hit a rough patch.”
“I heard. I keep track of my old friends. Too bad about Tom, no woman is worth blowing your brains out for,” said Arnie. Left unsaid was, “Even if the cunt is fucking your best friend.”
That reminded me that Arnie, Tom, and I had attended Boston Latin together, three boys bright enough to get into a highly competitive examination high school. One was dead. The other’s career was at a dead end. But Arnie seemed to be doing all right.
“So what do you think of my place,” asked Arnie?
“Incredible, this is yours?” I said and I meant it. The club was large and packed with customers. I can’t describe the décor other than to say it must have cost a fortune and be considered the epitome of cool. The music was loud and non stop. Nikki was dancing surrounded by young men. She was grinding her ass against their groins, foreplay for the young crowd.
“I have some silent partners, people from the coast,” said Arnie.
“Glad to see you’re doing so well,” I said raising my glass.
“I heard you’re working the Cynthia Rose case,” said Arnie.
“True, but how did you hear that,” I asked?
“You’re an old friend. I follow your career,” said Arnie.
“Bullshit,” I said. Arnie had a source within Boston PD.
“She was here the night she died,” said Arnie.
“Really, when,” I asked?
“Showed up a little after ten, left before midnight,” said Arnie.
“Seems early,” I said.
“She got a call and rushed off,”
“Any idea who or where,” I asked.
“She told one of the bartenders she was headed to a private party over in a loft in South end,” said Arnie.
“Whose party?”
“According to rumor, the Club Macabre crowd,” said Arnie.
“Named after the Biblical Jewish Maccabaeus who were tortured and put to death,” I said.
“You’re shitting me,” said Arnie. “I didn’t know that and I’m a Jew. You were always the smart one in school. How did you wind up being a cop?”
“I’m not that smart about some things, I guess.”
“Ever think about going private? I could use a new head of security,” said Arnie gesturing toward Nikki. “The one I have is letting seriously under aged girls into the club.”
“Maybe I’ll consider that. She fucks like an adult,” I said.
“I bet she does,” said Arnie.
I brought the conversation back to where I wanted it. “I’ve heard of Club Macabre. It’s supposed to be on the extreme side.”
“Serious S&M, sometimes they invite guests who are interested in seeing how much pain they can stand, very dumb move,” said Arnie.
“You know anyone who had done that, lately?” I asked.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, Gina, our waitress, want me to call her over?”
“Please,” I said.
Gina was Italian, looked Italian and talked like an Italian. She was attractive and the brief waitress uniform revealed a long thin body with boobs too large and round to be natural.
Arnie made the introduction. “Sit down, Gina, and tell Officer Westbrook about your Club Macabre experience.”
Gina didn’t look all that happy about having to talk to the police. Next day, I learned there was an outstanding warrant out on her for credit card fraud.
“I’d sue those motherfuckers if I knew who they were,” said Gina.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Look at this shit,” said Gina lifting her top to reveal a pair of nipple less breasts. There were large round scabs in place of the missing buds. Someone had hacked off the top of her knockers.
“Ouch,” I said.
“Dr. Carter says it will cost eight grand to fix my boobs. He’s going to graft pieces of my labia. He’ll have to trim my pussy to even it out. What do you think?”
“I always follow my doctor’s advice,” I said being non committal. “Tell me how it happened.”
“I didn’t see who did it. I was doing Ecstasy that night and passed out. It was after they whipped me,” said Gina.
“They whipped you,” I asked?
“Blindfolded me and tied me to a cross. The motherfuckers whipped my ass until it was purple. I couldn’t work for three days,” said Gina.
“What else,” I asked?
“They shocked my pussy and asshole. They stuck these things in me and turned on the juice. The slipped something down my piss hole to shock my bladder,” said Gina who had left her boobs uncovered.
“That must have been rough,” I said.
“I almost went out of my mind. My clit was numb for a week and I keep wetting my pants. The bastards laughed at me when they weren’t too busy jerking off on my face,” said Gina.
“Did you see any animals there,” I asked? Cynthia Rose’s gerbils hadn’t made the news and I wanted that to stay quiet as long as possible. Once it was in the media, every nut job in New England would be sticking rodents up their butt.
“They were all a bunch of fucking animals as far as I am concerned,” said Gina.
“No, I mean animals like ponies or dogs, maybe even smaller animals like mice or guinea pigs,” I said.
Gina looked thoughtful before she spoke. “There were dogs.”
“What kind of dogs,” I asked?
“I don’t know, the kind you see on fire trucks or in the Disney move,” said Gina.
“101 Dalmatians,” I said.
“Yes, white with black spots,” said Gina.
“Did anyone do anything sexual with the dogs,” I asked? Bestiality is a felony in Massachusetts, surprisingly a more serious crime than necrophilia. You can spend more time inside for fucking a live pooch than a dead girl.
“I don’t want to talk about that. Everyone was doing a lot of E and things got wild. You know how E affects some people,” said Gina thereby indicating there were Dalmatians in Boston with a Gina notch on their dog house.
“So how did you hook up with Club Macabre,” I asked?
“My ex boyfriend, the creep took me there and let them do those things t to me,” said Gina.
“And he is,” I asked?
“Larry Joyner,” said Gina.
“And where do I find him,” I asked?
“He lives in Everett with his family. I haven’t heard from him since that night,” said Gina. “His wife says he’s booked on her and the kid. She hasn’t seen him in days. She’s probably lying.”
“Why did you go with him,” I asked.
“He and I were into S&M but nothing that extreme. Those crazy bastards actually branded a girl. She was begging and pleading for them to stop but they slapped this CM brand right on her butt. That’s fucking permanent. Thank God, they didn’t do that to me.”
“So you want to sue them,” I asked?
“I want to but my Uncle, he’s a lawyer, said since I signed a consent form, it would be tough,” said Gina.
“I need a copy of the consent form you signed,” I said.
“Okay, it’s in my purse. Arnie, can I use the copy machine in your office?” said Gina.
“Sure,” said Arnie handing her a set of keys.
“Remember the time we picked up those twins who liked to be spanked,” said Arnie.
“Rose and Wendy, I thought I was going to rupture a blood vessel in my hand,” I said before returning to the topic of interest. “Club Macabre sounds serious, but not serious enough to kill someone.”
“According to the press, Ms. Rose’s death was an accident.”
“What can you tell me about her,” I asked. Arnie must have known it was no accident or he wouldn’t have brought it up.
“Most of the time she came here with a couple of girl friends, Megan Connors and Austen Draper. They’re pretty wild. Cynthia, especially, had a big appetite for sex and drugs, a blow job artist with a jaw that could go the distance.”
“You ever fuck her,” I asked?
“A couple of times, nothing serious, you could probably get half the guys and girls in this place to admit to doing her. She was more into quantity than quality. Once she got iced, she went all out. She’d march right into the Men’s Room, take a seat on the john, and yell, “Who wants a blowjob?” A few weeks back, she imbibed several days’ worth of her normal protein allotment before she passed out on the floor. A patron took advantage of the situation in a uniquely nasty fashion.”
“How,” I asked?
“According to the Security associate, who discovered her, the gentleman was holding her head down in a commode full of dark pee and shit as he piss fucked her in the ass.”
“Was he trying to drown her,” I asked?
“No, he let her up to breathe occasionally,” said Arnie. “And he pulled her out after he dumped his load. She was quite a sight when he finished. Leaking semen and pee out her ass with her head covered in urine. One of the girls cleaned her up.”
“Why didn’t Security stop him,” I asked.
“The young man is from Bahrain and his family is mega oil wealthy. Security would have stopped him if he held her under too long.”
“He piss fucked her. I though that was a gay thing,” I said. In my experience it was a gay thing.
“Started out that way but the heteros picked it up as the latest cool form of sexual intercourse. Everybody’s pissing up their girl’s butt in Hollywood. It is one messy way to screw.”
“How do I get invited to Club Macabre?” I asked?
“That’s a tough one,” said Arnie. “You have to know someone who is a member. And the membership is the best kept secret in the Commonwealth.”
“But you know someone,” I said.
“Possibly, but she may be hard to get that close to,” said Arnie.
“Who,” I asked?
“Ever hear of Violet Addison?” asked Arnie.
“Society type, yes, I know of her. Even met her a few times when I was a rookie cop,” I said.
“She’s upstairs in the VIP Room,” said Arnie.
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