A Doll's Foot Ch. 04-05

Chapter 4

HER PHONE WAS RINGING. No, not her phone. Some ancient monstrosity on the night table next to the bed. In Nestor's room. The bed which did not have him in it. Which was okay. She had never spent the night with a man. Rocco slept with the cats. Or with that bitch Anna. Nestor had given her a nice back rub like he had probably done for his wife. It had freaked her out. He was probably in the bathroom, which was a place she was realizing she desperately needed to be, but the damn phone was still ringing. She picked up the headset. Which end did you talk into?

"Ciao?"

"Bea?" It was Rocco. "Siamo sulla terrazza. Vieni fatto subito. Tutto nudo. Senza telefoni."

Meet him at the terrace? Right away? Naked? No phones? Before she could ask what or why, he had hung up.

"What was that all about?" Nestor had emerged from the bathroom, thankfully, dripping wet, holding a towel.

"Need to pee." More than pee, her bowels emptying to fill the toilet bowel in a sudden smelly rush she flushed down immediately. She wiped herself, flushed again, and rinsed off in the shower. Back out in less than a minute. "It was Rocco. He wants us to meet him at the terrace. Right away. Naked. No phones. I guess that means no watch too."

"Why?"

"He didn't say. He sounded upset though. Frantic even."

"You can leave your purse and phone in the safe."

"Okay. God my hair is a mess. You wouldn't have a comb? No, of course not." She ran her hands through the mass of tangles. The phone rang again. "Sì, partiamo!"

They took the fire stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator. The steps were metal, pebbled to be non skid. Not good for bare feet. To say she was in a foul mood by the time they reached the terrace would be an understatement. Which was unfortunate. Last night had been quite delightful. There were things that Nestor knew that were not on the list he had provided, things devoted to pleasing his partner. Most of them things she could do to please Marissa, or the other way around. And they had tried out her toys. She had never known a man could find pleasure like that, so much like a woman, lasting, it seemed, for a very long time. No wonder he liked to bottom.

Rocco and Marissa were sitting at a table for four, both naked, of course. They both looked unhappy. Fearful, even. Beatrice gave them each a little kiss.

"Sit down." Rocco gestured them to the two empty chairs. "We have a problem."

"What problem? What's all the cloak and dagger?"

"This morning I got a text message on my burner phone. I have no idea how someone even knew the number. It included this image." Instead of the phone, he handed her a piece of paper. She looked at it and started sobbing.

"What is it?" Nestor asked.

"A foot! It's Anna's foot!"

"Let me see." He took the piece of paper. "How do you know it's Anna?"

"The tattoo. On her ankle. They cut it off high enough to show the tattoo. And the nail polish. Those are her toes. Look how it's pointed, she always used to do that, like she was stretching her feet to dance."

"What's the message?" Beatrice asked. It was in some strange alphabet, Russian or perhaps Ukrainian. не суй клюв, куда не следует.

"I know some Russian," Rocco said. "I took a few years of Russian in high school. The teacher was a cute little blonde, and she used to take us out on the lawn with her guitar to teach us folk songs. It's a Russian proverb, ne suy nos, kuda ne sleduyet. Literally, don't stick your nose in the wrong place. Don't get nosy. Except it's beak, not nose."

"Your nickname. Birdy."

At that moment, the waitress came over to their table. The same one as the night before. Coincidence? Beatrice was beginning to look for patterns everywhere. Disturbing patterns.

"Good morning." The waitress glanced at her watch. A smart one? Communicating with whom or what? "Actually, good afternoon. But you can still order from the breakfast menu if you would prefer. Let me make sure you have the right one." She reached into one of the pockets of her little lap apron, somehow lifting it up in the process to show little fluffy curls to match her hair, and put down the tourist breakfast card, the one in English, with a little smirk. It had the sticker on the bottom with the server rental fees.

"She's on the menu?" Rocco was looking at the sticker.

"Very tasty. I'll have the French breakfast." Beatrice managed a smile to the little tart.

"Coffee? Tea? Or me?"

"I haven't heard that one in years," Nestor said.

"I like vintage porn. And vintage gentlemen." That was enough to make him wince.

"I'll have the American breakfast."

"How would you like the eggs?"

"Over easy. Do you know what that means?"

"Of course. And for you two?"

"Just coffee," Marissa said.

"And you, sir?"

Rocco winced a little at that sir. "I'll have you. Over easy. Just kidding. Coffee would be fine."

After the waitress flounced off, swaying her bare butt, Rocco started to speak, but Marissa held a finger to her lips, gesturing at the waitress who still perhaps in earshot. She took the finger away as the girl went back into the building, replaced it with the neighboring digit as she gestured to where the little trollop had vanished.

"There were videos of you and Bea posted last night," Rocco whispered. "Melanie cheats on Steve." His web name. "It was a sensation."

"Well what did you think would happen! You practically pimped me out! You wanted it to happen!"

"Maybe not quite so openly. You can see what the consequences are." Rocco pointed to the piece of paper.

"What about your investigations?" Nestor countered. Watching all of their videos, he had never cared much for Rocco. A buffoon. But maybe not so much so. "Weren't you poking your nose into some places no one is supposed to know about?"

"Which you did not know about. Or your robot allies." Allies, not masters. Beatrice noticed that slight distinction, and the little wince that Nestor gave. "A nose. Not a beak."

"Look," Marissa said, "everyone calm down. Doctor Warren, Rocco has assured me that you are a genius, one of the great minds of our time. If this was presented as a problem for you to solve, where would you begin?"

"Well, first of all, about the foot. It's impossible to tell from this print if the image is genuine. It would be easy enough to photoshop. I would have to see the digital version to even begin an analysis."

"It came to my burner phone with instructions to print it off. And once I had done so, the phone started smoking and burst into flame. As if it was possessed. Who knows what else was lurking in that message? What we are dealing with?"

"The printer, was it a network printer?"

"Yes, but it would not print that way. I had to use a USB cord. The instructions were to print the note within three minutes, or all devices would be frozen. Like a ransomware attack. That's why I avoided bringing anything connected to the web to this meeting."

"You think," Beatrice asked, "that we are dealing with an adversary? To the investigative directorate?"

"It's possible," Nestor said. "You found things that should not have been there to find."

"It's like Jurassic Park with all the extra dinosaurs," Marissa said. "What do your robots have to say?"

"Since I left my phone in the room, I can't tell you. Do you think this image is recent?"

"It had a file date that indicated it was about a week old. Undetected by your all powerful bots."

"Lovely. Well, we would need to locate the physical foot, if there is one, and some genetic material from Anastasia to verify that it is in fact her foot. That is, if the foot, or any other part of her, is of any actual consequence. If we are not being played for some other purpose."

"Played?"

"Have you ever played chess against a computer? Imagine one that can see a thousand moves ahead, a million moves ahead. That's what my bots are like. It's almost useless trying to guess what they're up to."

"And the adversary? If there is one?"

"You might as well enjoy your breakfast." The waitress had appeared with their orders. "You never know if it's going to be your last one."

That produced a glare from Beatrice, but a smile from Rocco. "Wait." He read the name embossed on her apron. "Rachel." He pronounced it Raquel. He had a little leather bag slung on his hip like the purse Beatrice had worn the night before. He produced a fifty euro note. "I've changed my mind about the over easy." He took the napkin off his lap and stood up. It was obvious he was not talking about eggs. "En cul." It was an order, not a request.

The waitress stared at the size of what he was proposing to impale her with and shook her head. He produced another bill from the little purse. "Keep the change."

"Très bien." She took the bills and put them in one of the apron pouches. No need to remove the apron. It left her butt completely bare. She leaned over the table next to them, legs spread to open her cheeks.

"Bea."

"Che?"

"Prepare her. As you do Risa." Rocco said it in English to make sure the others could understand. In a tone that made it very clear it was an order from her master.

Nestor had watched enough of their videos to know what that preparation consisted of. What Beatrice had paid, well only ten euros, to do to the little waitress the night before. What she had done quite gleefully for him last night before she tried out pegging. The thing his wife would never do. Something Beatrice liked to do, it would seem. But to be ordered to do it... Beatrice looked as if she was about to explode in rage.

"What's the matter, little sister? Didn't you say she was quite tasty?"

"Let me do it," Marissa said. "Bea's already had a taste."

"I don't like that. It's gross. It tickles." Rachel was squirming as Marissa started to probe her. Just like my wife, Nestor was thinking. Rocco moved in front of the waitress to gag her complaints.

It was well beyond the five minute limit by the time he went back to where Marissa had been so busy with her tongue.

"Non! C'est trop!" Was the little waitress really in pain, or just putting on a good show? Hadn't Marissa been doing the same thing in their cam shows trying to eke out a few more tips? Rocco was big for a guy, but not as big as the dildos the ladies were using in their solos. They were at least double the five minute mark when Rocco finally withdrew. Was he going to invite one of his ladies to lap up the residue?

"Cochon!" The waitress scrambled off the table and went over to one of the outdoor showers set up by the steps so people coming from the beach could rinse off. Rocco looked around at the other three to see if anyone was interested in cleaning him. Seeing no takers, he went off to use the other shower. He and the waitress were having some sort of conversation, drowned out by the spray, which ended with a little kiss on her forehead.

"What was that all about?" Beatrice asked when he returned.

"I was asking her if she would like to do a show with us. She said she would be delighted."

"You asked her what? Without consulting us? What if I just bite her clit off? On live webcam?"

"I'm sure that would get a lot of tips. Really, she's very pretty. Very nicely built. Don't you think so, Nestor?"

Compact little body, nice tits, blond hair. Just like his wife. Of course he would think so. She was going to lose both her men, not that Nestor was really her man, but what a night they had had together, better than anything ever with Rocco, and now, and now... "Is she even old enough? To fuck, for sure, but to do a cam show?"

"You have to be eighteen to be a whore in this country. I'm sure she wouldn't be on the menu if she wasn't at least that old."

"Seventeen," Beatrice countered. She'd looked it up. "Why? Why are you doing this?" Not just this little whore Rachel who apparently was going to get a place on their couch, if not in Rocco's bed. But the Black Mass, pimping her out to Nestor, moving here in the first place. They had finally graduated from high school, well the girls had. Maybe Rocco had just been waiting for that to make all these changes?

"You know the saying 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'?"

It was so far from her train of thought that it took her a moment to realize it was an answer to her question.

"Tell this Rachel that she will do for me what I do for Risa. While you sodomize her. See if she is still willing to do a show."

"She's a big fan. She said she's willing to do anything to be on a show with us."

"Very well." Beatrice gave a wicked little smile. "Maybe we should arrange another sacrifice? For real this time?"

"You're forgetting about the problems with the last one." Rocco gave a sigh. "Doctor Warren..."

"His nickname is Birdy," Beatrice interrupted. "We don't have to be so formal, do we?"

"Birdy. Yes you told me. No, I cannot call him that."

"Maybe after you've fucked him. Or the other way around." That was enough to make both of the guys squirm. Why? Well, Rocco wouldn't even let the girls peg him. He'd wandered in once or twice when they were fucking each other with strapons, and fled at the suggestion he could be the center of a spitroast. But Nestor liked to bottom. She knew from last night just how much he liked it. But not with Rocco? Maybe Rocco wasn't his type? Marissa was giving her a warning look, a little hand signal that meant cool it.

"Doctor Warren, Nestor, can I call you Nestor?"

"Of course."

"Nestor, you were saying that there were steps that we might take to identify this foot. Through genetic material? DNA?"

"Or the like. If there was a toothbrush, a comb, an article of clothing that might have a trace of Anastasia's skin cells, saliva, even bodily excretions..."

"She gave everything away," Marissa said. "Or sold it. Or something. Some of those items were not the kind of thing you take to the parish thrift shop." She gave a giggle, "There's a second hand fetish store. Some of things might be there. Personally, I would not buy a second hand dildo, but who knows? Some of her stuff might be there. It's in the center of town though. We'll need clothes to go there."

"I have to get my stuff from last night," Beatrice said. "We'll be over in ten minutes."

Chapter 5

THEY DECIDED TO TAKE THE ELEVATOR rather than the stairs back up to his room. There was no reason not to, after all. People were wandering through the hotel lobby naked all the time during the day. But as soon as the door closed Beatrice started sobbing. Nestor pulled her into his chest to comfort her. He didn't ask her what was the matter, which was just as well. Was it Anna? Anastasia, as he called her. If she never saw that bitch again it would be too soon. Or Rachel? Nestor had kept his napkin on his lap while the little tart was putting on her show with Rocco. But when he got up his penis had not been its usual polite shriveled self. And now she could feel it pressing hard against her. She reached down to grasp his erection, stretching up en pointe to guide him into her.

"Not in the elevator." He backed away, pushing on her shoulders so that she was flat footed again.

"Why not?" She was ready to pull him back into her, but the door opened. They had reached the fourth floor. There was no one the hall. He put his arm around her waist and herded her across the carpet to the little lounge on the other side.

"Over easy." He was pointing her head to one of the overstuffed armchairs. Oh, that's what he wanted! The other side of her, the other hole of her. He was lifting her off the floor, effortlessly it seemed, pushing her chin onto the top of the backrest, draping her knees over the thick soft arms of the chair. The other end of him, too, it seemed, was what he preferred at the moment. It was his tongue impaling her, so deep she could feel his lips, his teeth.

Over easy. So humiliating. Did he have his eyes closed, pretending it was Rachel? Or his wife? Was she supposed to protest? To complain that it was gross? That it tickled? Instead, she reached a hand back to grab his hair, of which of course there wasn't any, to grab his skull then, like a volleyball, to push him into her. To make her come, violently, gripping his tongue so tightly with her bowels that it was forced back out of her.

"Nice." There was a moment of nothing but air on her butt, then the chill of his erection sliding into her, his smooth skin rubbing against the inside of her widespread thighs.

"Damn. You're too big. I can't get all the way in you."

What? Obviously he was all the way in. His pelvic bone was grinding into her tailbone. But he pushed even harder, and she could feel the tip of his intrusion pressing against some resistance. Breaching it, just barely.

"That's better. Turn around."

No please? It was not like last night, when she was for hire to do his bidding. "S'il vous plaît?" She was about to add that she did not like being treated like a piece of fuckmeat. Well, maybe she did. That's how Rocco treated her and Marissa, like little girls who would do anything to please him. Because they loved him. Well she loved him, and Marissa loved her, and...and what about Nestor? What had he said about falling in love with someone because you had sex with them? And what if it the sex was the best you'd ever had, well she was still a teenager, if barely, how much sex had she ever had, to compare it with, but a lot better than anything she'd had so far...

He wasn't paying any attention to her in any case. He was looking out the window at the street below. "There's something going on over there." She could see the blue reflections of police car lights. No sirens though. They were just double parked outside her apartment building. The building had a little lawn in front of it, with a couple of shade trees and some benches. She could see Andre sitting on one of those benches, slumped over, with her friends, still naked, and a couple of the cops gathered around him. An ambulance was parked next to the cop cars.

"Oh no! Poor Andre! Do you think he had a stroke or something? The man is a walking heart attack, I swear it. Or should I say waddling. A junk food junkie."

"I guess we'll find out." Nestor was pushing buttons to unlock his hotel door. "Maybe we should rinse off first."

Of course it was his room, he had clothes he could put on. Old man's clothes, baggy shorts and a polo shirt, like her grandfather would wear to Mass. A baseball cap that completed the bourgeois tourist look. All he needed was a fanny pack. Could this be the same man whose elegance had charmed her panties off, well would have if she'd had any on in the first place? But the face, with the hat on to hide his lack of hair, looked very similar to the one in the old photo he had shown her. More powerful, perhaps, but no hint of a wrinkle, skin soft and smooth. How old was he, really? He could be in his late thirties, or forties, or seventies. Or a thousand.

She was debating if she should put on the whore dress she had left in the bag. Better off naked, most likely. But she did put on the fuck-me stiletto heels. Better than walking on the pavement barefoot. Maybe.

There they were in the mirrored door of the elevator, the budget class dirty old man and his cheap little fuck toy. So embarrassing. But she wasn't going to attempt the stairs in those heels. Or barefoot again. She tried to keep a straight face as they walked through the lobby of the hotel, thankfully to no catcalls, and the crosswalk.

They were stopped by police tape draped across the walkway into her building. And a very serious looking cop, holding up a hand. "Arrêtez." Sizing them up, he added in English, "you can't go any further right now. Not until we complete our investigation."