All The Pretty Girls Ch. 03

"But he's a killer! What if he knows where April lived? What if he comes there for some reason... I don't know looking for evidence or something?" Wendy sounded paranoid but Steve understood.

"You can stay here tonight but I'm not sleeping on the couch," Steve volunteered, a little angrily.

"Don't bother!" Wendy recognised Steve's begrudging tone.

She tried to get up off the couch and stumbled back onto it.

"You're staying here," Steve said, determination evident in his inflection.

Wendy looked up at him with her panda eyes.

"I always was a cheap drunk," she mumbled.

Steve moved her to a lounge chair while he pushed the coffee table out of the way and pulled out the sofa-bed which was already made up. They didn't have a second bedroom and Felicity had the white leather sofa-bed custom made for such eventualities.

Steve pulled down the covers and turned on a table lamp beside the bed which he dimmed right down to a pool of pale yellow. He turned off the overhead lights.

"You can sleep here tonight. I'll bring out a towel and some toiletries tomorrow morning," Steve said.

Wendy was already on her feet. She had peeled off her jacket and shirt and was in the process of removing her skirt.

"I'll leave you to it. Goodnight Wendy," Steve said and hurriedly left the room.

Steve was awakened about an hour later by the rustle of the sheets and then the perception of someone climbing into his bed. Wendy scooted across the big bed and spooned him. He could feel her soft breath on his shoulder, her hair tickled his neck, he smelled her beguiling perfume. Her breasts were soft pillows pressed into his back and she put one leg over his as she snuggled against him. She was still wearing her tights and the smooth lycra caressed his sensitive skin.

"This is a bad idea," Steve whispered into the dark.

"I don't want to be alone. I just want you to comfort me; I don't want your babies," her breathing was heavy, her breath like a zephyr on his shoulder.

"We shouldn't. My partner nearly lost her job for doing this; her husband left her," Steve murmured.

"Would Felicity leave you if she found out?" Wendy rested her head on his shoulder.

Steve remained silent.

"Would she?" she nipped his ear and he flinched.

"We have an arrangement," Steve hissed; a little angry.

"An open marriage?" her hand slid along his belly and found him hard.

She squeezed and Steve gasped.

"Something like that," Steve sighed and rolled over.

Wendy smiled at him and squeezed him again.

"This is a bad idea," Steve began to say again but Wendy's lips were on his and the words got lost as he reached for her.

He pulled her close and kissed her. Her body was so different to Felicity's. Wendy was wide hipped and she had broad shoulders, her breasts were matronly, she had a little pot belly, her skin was so soft; she felt bigger. There was more of her to hold, to explore. Her areolas were huge and her nipples were as big as blackberries when he suckled on them. Wendy cradled his head and cooed.

His mouth moved down to her belly and Wendy lay on her back as Steve kissed and licked her midriff, exploring her belly-button with his tongue. He could smell her sex. Steve hadn't had sex with a genetic woman for a long while and the difference between Wendy and Felicity's genitalia was enticing. He nuzzled her belly and tweaked a nipple with one hand while his other traced the outline of her sex through her tights.

Wendy moaned and her body shuddered. She entwined her fingers in his hair.

Steve's mouth travelled down to the crease at the top of her leg where he used his tongue a little before moving towards her sex.

"No! I stink! I haven't washed since this morning," she yanked on his hair.

Steve pressed on anyway and his tongue traced the outline of Wendy's labia through the sheer tights.

She did stink. But it was a good stink: the pungent musky smell of womanhood that Steve hadn't smelled for quite some time. When he tore open the crotch of her tights and put his mouth on her cunt Wendy groaned. He opened her labia and his tongue found her clitoris. He lapped at the sensitive nubbin, hardly touching it. Wendy's fingers twisted in his scalp pushing his face into her pubis. She was no longer embarrassed by her smell; she wanted Steve to use his mouth on her.

Steve slid a finger then another into Wendy's gaping wet vagina while he suckled her clitoris, putting his whole mouth over it and using the tip of his tongue on the little pink protuberance. Wendy's feet drummed on the bed as a mighty orgasm swept over her.

Steve rode the orgasm along with her, using his mouth, his fingers and his tongue to evoke a shattering climax as Wendy writhed on the bed, moaning and squealing, her fingers pulling painfully on his scalp.

When she began to descend from the plateaux of her orgasm Steve slipped his fingers out of her and began to snake up her body.

He lay on top of her and kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth at the same time as he drove his cock into her sodden minge. Her cunt was hot, fleshy and buttery and enveloped his pulsing iron-hard cock. She wrapped her arms around him and lifted her legs, clamping them around his torso.

Steve put his hands under Wendy's buttocks and gripped them, squeezing them as he drove his cock in and out of her steaming cunt. His body crushed her fat breasts, her nipples like ripe berries against his flesh. She moaned into his mouth and cycled her legs against his flanks, her silky slippery tights triggering the delicate nerves which amplified the pleasure he was feeling from her fleshy vagina clenching his cock. Her lips and tongue worked his mouth.

He dug his fingers into her buttocks so hard that her tights ripped as he drove his cock all the way inside her and ejaculated. Wendy pushed her pelvis up and ground her pubis against him, her cunt quivering, milking him of his seed, her vaginal juices flowing freely as she too climaxed.

It was hot, messy, stinky, violent sex and it was what they both needed.

Neither said anything as Steve finally lay still on top of Wendy gasping as he recovered from the earth-shattering climax. Wendy stroked his sweat-soaked hair with one hand and held him close with another. Their bodies were stuck together by sweat and sex juices. Steve fell asleep on top of her and Wendy gently rolled him off, pulled up the covers and snuggled up to him.

They both slept dreamlessly for the rest of the night.

Steve woke up to find Wendy standing at the edge of the bed. She was freshly showered and she smelled of expensive soap and perfume.

"I used Felicity's makeup and borrowed some pantyhose. She has so much lingerie in that walk-in robe that I'm sure she won't miss one pair," Wendy smiled down at him.

She had her purse slung over her shoulder ready to leave.

"So you're going to replace the pantyhose then, because you only borrowed them?" Steve tried to keep things light.

In the morning light Wendy's unique beauty was more evident. The fresh makeup and shampooed hair had taken away the haggard look she'd had last night. Her legs were at eye-level. She was wearing flesh-toned shiny dance tights and Steve felt a stirring in his groin but he knew that pulling Wendy onto the bed would be an even worse mistake than last night had been.

"Thanks for last night... I just didn't want to be alone," Wendy sighed.

"Look... I'm sorry if I took advantage, I..." Steve stuttered and Wendy shut him down by bending over and kissing him on the lips.

"If anything, I took advantage of you. Get up. Go to work. Go and find out who killed my girl and arrest him," she leaned down and rubbed her lipstick from his mouth.

Steve watched her ass in the little denim skirt as she walked to the bedroom door. He heard her heels click-clack on the Scandinavian pine then the front door open and close.

He climbed out of bed and ripped the sheets and pillowcases off the bed and dragged them to the laundry. He got the washer going then he went over to Felicity's vanity table. He cleaned the used makeup brushes on Kleenex and put them back in their little crystal cup, he put the cap on a tube of lipstick and closed the cosmetics cases that Wendy had left open. He reached into the little tidy beside the table and removed the empty package of Weissman shimmer tights. He would throw the packaging in the trash on the way to work.

One of the rules of their open marriage was that they didn't fuck other people in their home.

Steve had broken two cardinal rules.

*****

In the Task Force office Penelope and Alice were ready for the morning update. Gary Rasmussen had decided to attend and sat at Steve's desk broodily drinking coffee. Steve knew better than to ask him to move. Alice Leasingham began the briefing.

"The DNA at the Park Services hut and the Abacha Motel are a match. Still no correlation in any of the State and Federal DNA and fingerprint databases," Alice took a deep breath and continued.

"The signature appears to be the same. The perp has anal sex with the victim; there is nothing to indicate that the sex is non-consensual, he strangles the victim from behind, in both cases using a pair of L'eggs Everyday Regular pantyhose which we are assuming he brings to the crime scene."

"In both cases it is evident that he also ejaculates on their clothed bodies post mortem. In the case of Loretta Dubbin it would appear that he interfered with the corpse sexually multiple times before he left the crime scene," Alice completed her brief and sat down.

Penelope stood up and approached the crime wall.

She was wearing a charcoal short-skirted power suit, white blouse, tan hosiery and heels. Her makeup as usual was on the heavy side and Steve studied her for any sign of hangover but she seemed bright-eyed and sharp.

"The burned-out SUV found at the quarry is a positive match for the tire tracks found in Battersea Park. There was no other useful evidence obtained from the wreck. I'll get Jaylene Foster to confirm it was the same make and model used by our suspect to pick up Loretta on Bridge Street when she comes in today to work with our sketch artist on the facial composite," Penelope pointed to the relevant pictures and notes on the crime wall.

"So far Jaylene Foster is our strongest lead. We've interviewed everyone listed in the Abacha Motel guest register on the day of April's murder and drawn a blank. I interviewed Wendy Beaumont, April's flatmate, and she was very forthright but not very helpful," Penelope looked over Steve's way and he blushed.

She couldn't know about last night, Steve thought.

"The man having sex with April on her OnlyFans, Alan Wright, has an iron-clad alibi but we've asked the Wisconsin Staties to get a DNA sample anyway. The clients from April's OnlyFans have been, shall we say, a little reluctant to talk to us but we have ascertained that April used the Abacha Motel on at least four other occasions for her liaisons and this was confirmed by the clerk who took cash and didn't enter her details in the register," Penelope read from her notes.

"So far all of the clients we have located have alibis, there are still a significant number of clients who used blocked numbers and once-only email accounts to solicit April Summers and I doubt we will find them all."

"The pings from the Battersea Park cell tower linked to the burner phone used to solicit April before she was killed link the perp from Loretta Dubbin murder to the April Summers murder, I think we are wasting scarce resources chasing down anymore OnlyFans clients."

"Our best bet is to get a composite drawing and description from Jaylene Foster when she comes in this morning and try to work the evidence that links the cases," Penelope sat down, smoothing her skirt under her and crossing her legs which drew the male gaze of Steve Edwards and Gary Rasmussen.

Steve stood up and cleared his throat.

"Chief, there is no doubt in my mind that the same perp killed both April Summers and Loretta Dubbin. He's preying on transsexual prostitutes, at least for now. There being only two murders that we know about we can't be certain of his MO. I'm going to issue a state-wide bulletin requesting the details of any unsolved murders involving trans women where the same or similar signatures are evident," Steve announced.

"Now hold on a minute Steve. As soon as you do that tongues are going to wag. We can't be absolutely certain that this guy is still operating in our jurisdiction, that he's even still in the state for that matter," Gary held up his hand like a stop sign.

"Chief, we need to warn all of the trans sex workers, in fact probably the whole of the trans community, that there is a killer out there targeting them," Steve said heatedly.

"No one has said serial yet!" Gary banged the table.

"Chief we have deliberately shied away from using the words serial killer but if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck," Steve rose to his feet.

Gary was seething. He knew that Steve was right but the political hierarchy were pressuring him to play down the significance of the murders. As far as they were concerned it was just two tranny hookers and their deaths were not significant.

Gary looked at Penelope who nodded and then at Alice who also nodded.

"Fuck it! Put out your state-wide request for assistance and get the composite out to the trans community and warn them, especially the sex workers. But no fucking press! No fucking publicity! Do it on the QT," Gary picked up his coffee and headed for the door.

*****

Mitch Freeman had been rightly pissed when Felicity Benson hooked up with Steve Edwards. She had fired Mitch and given his job to Steve. That is Mitch had been pissed but also relieved. He was pissed because managing Ride em' Cowgirl had been his dream job surrounded by beautiful drag queens who fired his imagination. The club's financials weren't that difficult to manage: wages, profit and losses, property administration, asset management, hiring and firing the servers, cooks and bartenders, security and of course taxes.

Mitch was relieved because being around those gorgeous drag queens fuelled his fantasies. Felicity managed that side of the business: finding and auditioning the talent, engaging with choreographers, DJs, lighting technicians, stage managers and costume designers. Anything to do with the drag performances was managed by Felicity and her assistant Panti Down. But Steve was still around the girls periphery, watching them, lusting after them.

Mitch had a rule that he would never use the services of any of the girls who worked at the club. When he sought out those special women who offered their services online he meticulously checked their pictures against the girls who worked at the club. He'd often visit the bigger cities to find those special women there to service his needs or if he couldn't wait he'd pick up a girl off Bridge Street.

April Summers had been a mistake and he knew it. He'd subscribed to her OnlyFans and become besotted with her. He'd been careful, he'd used a VPN, used a bogus email account and being an accountant he knew how to pay for services online without it being traced. He'd used a cheap burner phone to make contact with her and set up the rendezvous at the Abacha Motel.

She'd selected the location but he'd surveilled the place before the meet and was content that there were no security cameras and that it was the kind of place where people minded their own business. He was confident that he could do what he desperately wanted to do and get away with it.

He'd lied to himself. Said to himself that killing April Summers had been an impulse, even though he had purchased the eight-pack of L'eggs Everyday Regular pantyhose at Walmart and put a pair in his pocket prior to going to the motel.

There was nothing impulsive about the murder. The need to kill a tranny whore had been blossoming inside him ever since he had come back to work at Ride em' Cowgirl. He pretended that he was grateful to get his old job back and in some ways he was. But he resented that this trans woman had power over him; that she was the boss. The drag queens who worked in the club ignored him, treated him as if he was part of the furniture. Some of them gave him sass when they saw him ogling them.

But they'd loved Steve Edwards. They'd fawned over him, teased him and behaved like the coquettish sluts they were around him. Even that supercilious bitch Jill Graham was hot for Steve; even though she tried to hide it. Mitch was an excellent observer of human character.

The drag queens at Ride em' Cowgirl reminded him of Susan. Susan had become demanding and wanted him to do things that he didn't want to do. Susan was his plaything not the other way around. She had taken out that disgusting thing when he had told her not to and look at what had happened to her.

Mitch didn't know what had triggered the lust to kill. For many years he'd been content to satisfy his urges using prostitutes and callgirls. Maybe it was the humiliation of being replaced by Steve and having to come back when Steve couldn't do his job. Maybe it was the jealousy and resentment he had for Steve when the 'girls' fawned over his handsome athletic visage whilst they treated him as if he was an underling.

April had deserved what she got. He'd told her to leave her genitals tucked but she'd taken them out and tried to pleasure herself. She'd taunted him. He remembered what she'd said just before he killed her: "You don't like to see it do you? Are you scared that it's bigger than yours?"

It was all her fault. But was it? If he hadn't planned to kill her why had he brought the pantyhose to the motel and hidden them under the pillow when she wasn't looking? Why had he gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that their communication could not be traced back to him? Why had he cased the Abacha Motel to make sure he could come and go without being noticed?

Mitch smiled to himself. He'd always intended to kill the bitch!

The only reason that killing April Summers had been a mistake was because Felicity had hired her to perform at Ride em' Cowgirl. Steve didn't know that because Felicity handled that side of the business. There was an outside chance that her murder would lead the investigators to Ride em' Cowgirl and look who had showed up... Steve Edwards. Felicity had told Mitch that Steve had asked her about April Showers but that she couldn't help him. She'd only ever met April at her audition.

Even so that didn't stop Mitch going out and killing Loretta or whatever the fuck she called herself. He'd planned that better. He'd scouted a good place to fuck her and kill her, he'd stolen a car in which to solicit her and he'd remembered to take the cash he had given her. He'd had more time with her after he had killed her. He had been able to do things to her after she was dead. Things he'd dreamed about doing for quite a while.

Mitch's cock was throbbing painfully in his trousers as he thought about the atrocities he committed on Loretta's body. He'd need to take the crusty nylon stocking out of his bottom drawer and go to the men's room and take care of it. Then he'd be able to come back to his little office located at the back of the bar and concentrate on his work.

He looked up and saw Jill Graham's tight ass in her little skirt as she skittered about behind the bar stocking shelves. That was it! He opened the bottom drawer and his fingers foraged around for his wanking stocking whilst he ogled Jill's ass and her long legs sheathed in those shiny pantyhose. He stuffed the stocking in his pocket and made his way to the employee men's room and locked the door.

*****

Steve volunteered to pick up Jaylene Foster at Balwyn College at ten in the morning after her first class and drive her to Police Plaza. Nothing was actually articulated but Steve knew that Penelope wouldn't want to go anywhere near the college where she had first met Melissa Doyle and set in motion the calamity that had wrecked her life.