Ferdinando

I remained still and silent. "Nando? I want it Nando."

"What do you want, beautiful?"

She hesitated, but she knew what she had to say. "I want you to fuck my ass, Nando!"

I snorted. "Remember, you asked for it!"

I moved in half an inch and counted to ten, half an inch and counted to ten, and she made a grunting noise, and then held her breath. I pushed until I felt resistance, then waited to feel her relax around me. When she pushed back a little, I gave her some more. Then I just forgot about her response and fucked for my own pleasure. It was good. Slow and deep, then fast and deep. She began to babble. I kept one elbow on the bed and used the other to pull her head up with her hair. I didn't have to tell her I was in full control. She grunted and shivered. I couldn't ignore her responses anymore. But I didn't care, either. I just strove to get myself off. She came one more time, rolling her head left and right even as I pulled her hair, and then I filled her hot ass as completely and deeply as I could. She drew in a shuddering breath and then cried like a baby, and so did I.

I was too spent to get up and make a dramatic exit like last time, so I just hugged her. Her breathing began to approach normal, then she giggled. "I guess I did ask for that, didn't I?" She giggled again. "I'll probably ask for it again!"

Then she changed directions. "Did you see the news about the death at Mel's place?"

"Yes."

What do you know about Wendy McQuillan?"

Wow. Renee made that connection immediately! "From old Florida money; but young and restless?"

She laughed. "Pretty good summary Nando, you know more than most people, but I know the whole story. Have you ever met Wendy?"

"Yes."

"What was your first impression?"

"Hot looking plastic surgery on the prowl."

"Also, pretty accurate. Where did you meet her?"

"Mel's place."

"Wow! Then you need to know the whole story, Nando."

"I'm all ears!"

She grabbed my cock. "No, you're not!" Then she laughed, but not happily. "I have known Wendy since she was born, and I was ten. My mother was friends with hers. Wendy's father died before she was born. Her mother had five husbands after that, all hoping to tap the McQuillan fortune. But the trust was too well structured for that. All they got was living expenses. But I think some of them tapped poor little Wendy.

"She was a sexualized and troubled child. Seductive and destructive. Drug problems, private boarding schools, and rehab stints. Seducing male and female classmates, shoplifting, and street racing and crashing her fancy cars. At least one hush hush abortion. It is a wonder she survived. Some of her playmates did not. That's the first thing I thought of when I heard the news story."

"She seemed kind of predatory to me."

"Towards you she would have been. She seeks male energy, but then she sucks it up and destroys it. What happened with you besides meeting her?"

"She asked me to be her guest at the private club at Mel's. I declined, and that irritated her."

"I'll bet. What do you know about that club?"

"Female members, male and female guests, sort of a continuous bachelorette party?"

That's much too kind, Nando. It's an abuse factory. Glamorous, legal, expensive, private and enabling some awfully bad stuff."

"Sounds like you know that crowd?"

"Wendy tried to get me to join. She made quite the pitch. No sale."

"What was the offer?"

"Be a female power broker. Enable the Matriarchy. Erode the Patriarchy. Use men and women as sex toys for amusement but keep them under your thumb. Dominate and control them with other powerful women watching and enjoying it with you. Use them as status symbols. There were three types of people invited as guests: gay men to be an audience or an amusement, submissive beta men or women to be dominated and used, and male bulls to be seduced, displayed, used for pleasure, and then broken like horses and discarded. Sort of like some men use trophy wives, but with dicks. Wendy is the top female, leader of the pack, the alpha bitch. But there were no alpha males allowed, long term. Once they were identified they were systematically used, neutered and destroyed."

"I was told some people were overjoyed to be invited?"

"Yes, if you were naturally submissive it might be a dream come true, at least until they tired of you. Glamorous women teasing and displaying you, controlling you and using you for their amusement. Every kind of dungeon debauchery the Marquis de Sade ever penned, and modern technological stuff he never imagined. Whipping, pegging, golden showers, erotic asphyxiation and much more, all on stage and with applause, no less. Members trying to outdo each other to impress their friends. I suspect that Martin Velasquez died in bindings, hanging upside down, with cane marks all over him or electric leads or vacuum pumps hooked to his private parts. Not his favored sexual fantasy, I am sure."

She touched my shoulder tenderly. "Mel's may be a hot night spot, but you have to be careful about the crowd you meet there. Be careful, lover!"

I turned her over and spanked her, hard. "I am not you lover Renee! I am your bull. You are a beautiful and exciting woman. I take you and I fuck you, and you let me, and your husband knows all about it! From me you get lust and sex, not love. I think it is the perfect arrangement for both of us! I use you, and you use me, and it's all good! See you next Wednesday, beautiful! Oh, and thanks for the advice. I'll be careful!"

She was smiling widely when I left.

* * * * *

Detective Danny Ditsch had followed this Nando Cannon piece of shit out to a condo complex out on Barrington, but he could not see which unit he went into or who he met. After a couple of hours, Cannon went back to his little piece of shit efficiency apartment for the night. He was probably selling drugs to the high rollers at Mel's, or something. Ditsch was gonna bust this piece of shit, crack this case, move up a grade, and get off the night shift.

* * * * *

Thursday morning, I met my trainer at the park at 5. We started the routine and he started talking.

"Some kind of shit went down at Mel's Place, eh Nando! The cops are interviewing everyone that has ever been there. I met this Velasquez guy there once. He was a dancer and party boy, but straight. At least I thought he was. What do you hear?"

"Only that name, and I never saw him there or anywhere else. I have only been there about 5 times since that first night. There is a private club in the back, but I have never been in it."

"I thought that was like an LGBTQ place?" he said.

"I heard it was more complicated than that. Let me know if you hear anything else."

I saw Bonnie getting in her car as I walked back to my apartment. I waved. She pretended not to see me.

Wallace Watkins was waiting for me when I walked in the door of the office.

"Nando, the chief of police called me. I want you to go down to the police station for an interview, rather than having them disrupt things here again. You know the firm's policy about client data, but I don't think that is the issue. I think their interest is with you personally, not the firm. Do you have a lawyer?

"No. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Wake up Nando. Most cops don't care if you did it or not, that's not their problem. They only care if they can get a DA to prosecute you. This case is a big deal. The cops want notice and promotions. The politicians want it to get solved and make it go away quietly." He gave me a sheet of company stationery. "Here are two criminal defense lawyers that I know are good. Call one of them if things go south. Admit to nothing."

"I have nothing to admit to!"

"That may not matter. Remember all interviews are recorded."

I headed for the police station. Might as well get this over with. The desk sergeant looked surprised when I gave him my name. A few minutes later another guy in uniform took me to a threadbare and smelly interview room with a big mirror. I was glad I wore one of my good suits. I figured they would keep me waiting just as a tactic, so I had all my CPA exam review materials with me. I just took them out and went through them. An hour later, the tobacco and French fry guy arrived, with Bonnie in tow. He smelled worse than the room. He had traded in the bad suit for a glaringly ugly sport coat with yellows and greens in it, with brown slacks. I was reminded of the movie "Tommy Boy". Bonnie looked good and smelled even better, but she would not look me in the eye.

Detective Ditsch was not a subtle interviewer. "How many times did you have sex with Martin Velasquez?"

That was the last thing I expected to hear! "Zero."

"Can you prove it?" I suppose logic was not his friend. Perhaps I was a little hostile toward this guy.

"How many little boys have you abused Danny Boy? Can you prove it?"

He came within a hair's breadth of punching me.

"I'll ask the questions here! I know what went on in that back room. How many men did you have sex with there?"

Keep you cool Cannon, you are supposed to be a professional. "Aren't you just projecting your sexual fantasies onto me, Danny Boy?"

He stood and made two fists, and his face got red. Bonnie stood and put herself between us. He sat back down. He must have known his superiors would look at this tape, sooner or later. He changed tactics.

"Where were you last Saturday night?"

"At my apartment, alone."

"LIAR! You arrived at Mel's place at 2AM! We have you on video!"

"That was Sunday morning, not Saturday night. I can only respond to the questions you ask."

"So! You admit you were there Sunday when the crime was committed!"

"I was there early Sunday morning, for about 30 minutes. The news reports said something happened early Monday morning. I was not there on Monday. I have no idea if I crime was committed on Monday or not. Or on Sunday, for that matter.

"How many times have you been to the afterhours club at Mel's?"

"Never have."

"Have you been invited to go there?"

I looked at Bonnie. "Yes." Her eyes got big.

"So! You are gay!"

"Officer, you have got to stop projecting your personal sexual preferences into your investigations. It's not professional, nor in the public interest."

This time he almost broke the arm of the chair next to me. Bonnie grabbed his arm and tugged. "Let's talk outside!"

I got in another hour of CPA review work. Another guy came in. He was about fifty and looked smarter than Danny Ditsch. Most people did.

"I'm Detective Boyce".

"Hello."

"Who invited you to go the private club at Mel's?"

"Wendy McQuillan."

His eyes jumped. He was not expecting that answer, and he did not like it. I wondered if he could erase the recording. He changed the subject, quickly.

"When did you leave the Mel's place?"

"Sunday morning about 2:30 or so."

"Alone?"

"No. Did Officer Ditsch lose the tape? You should already know."

He almost smiled. "We do. Are you aware of Brandi Anson's ties to a known drug dealer?"

"No."

Do you have a personal relationship with Ms. Anson?"

"Yes."

He left. Another hour of review time.

Then Ditsch and Bonnie came back. "You can go, Cannon?"

"Solved the case already, officer?"

Ditsch was livid. "That's Detective to you! Get out!"

"Thank you, officer!"

* * * * *

I got back to the office at lunchtime and worked on busy work until 6. I drove by Mel's. The crime scene tape was down, but a sign on the door said, "closed for repairs". I got a taco from a truck, then went home. I called Brandi but no answer, so I left a message. I rode my damn new bike for two hours, but alone instead of with Bonnie. At least I didn't skin my arms or knees. I thought about my interview. What was the deal with Brandi and a drug dealer? Was she hiding something? There was no more news on Mel's when I searched before going to bed. I had trouble going to sleep.

Friday morning, I did not see Bonnie after my workout. When I got to work, there was an email from Hal and Shirley: they were back in town and inviting me to a party at their country club house tonight at 7. Even if that were all it was, at least it was break in the boring routine. Hopefully, it was more. Renee on Wednesdays just whetted my appetites, without fully satisfying them, and things with Bonnie did not look promising at this point. I looked at our office calendar app and suddenly discovered an appointment at 2 PM in the conference room with "M. Kapinski" to discuss "chart of accounts". It had been booked by the receptionist. She could book open hours for a junior guy like me without my approval. Should be interesting if nothing else.

At 2, Melody walked in conservatively dressed in her MBA/CPA best. She fit right in with the rest of the office, but with a little more fashion flare. As great as her suit looked, she otherwise looked disheveled, like she had not slept last night, or had been crying. As I walked her into the conference room, Wallace Watkins looked on curiously. I closed the door and we sat at the end of the table farthest from the door, in two chairs right next to each other. She sighed heavily as she sat down.

"How are you holding up, Mel?"

"Sorry for the surprise visit, Nando. I needed some perspective, and to talk with someone who wasn't interrogating me."

"I assume you have met Detective Ditsch, and that your chart of accounts is not the issue?"

She snorted. "Fuckin' A! I wish that were the real issue. I could deal with that! Ditsch can't be as stupid as he appears. Is it some kind of "Columbo" act?"

"Occam's Razor says he's really like that. Did you meet his partner?"

"You mean the hot brunette? Yeah."

"Did you recognize her?"

"From where?"

"She was the 'hooker' that tried to pick me up the first night I met you."

Melody's face flashed anger. "Shit! How long have they been targeting me?"

"Is the bar really being repaired, or do you just want to stay closed for a while?"

"The cops did leave a mess, but mostly in the backroom. I could open the regular bar, but now that everyone knows the cops were running video surveillance even before Martin Velasquez, nobody wants to come around anyway. I don't think I ever want the private club to be open again."

"Is that where Velasquez died?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't opening the club up to Wendy, not you?"

Her head snapped up and she looked really pissed off. Then she teared up.

"I searched the Florida Department of State databases. I read the articles of incorporation, Mel. A longtime local told me the story of Wendy's childhood and adolescence, and more than I wanted to know about the private club. Were you one of Wendy's playmates?"

I got one of the tissues from the box on the conference table and handed it to her. It took her a few minutes to settle down. Then she said, "Do you think you really know what happened at the club?"

"If it is worse than I know, I probably don't want to hear it."

She sobbed. "It was so exciting at first! All the attention! All the heightened feelings. I was in a sensual fog for the first few weeks I was with her. Then she got more demanding, crueler, not just the exciting kind of edge, but evil, ugly, and terrifying. Like a mean kid burning ants with a magnifying glass. Making me do things with other women, on stage, while she watched and directed us. I was humiliated, cowed, depressed. I pretended everything was okay in the regular bar, but I was a craven, subservient coward in the private club. That's just the way Wendy wanted it. I am glad something finally happened to break the cycle, but I am sorry about Martin."

"Was he one of Wendy's subs?"

"Well, everyone played with Martin. He was a super sub. The more you degraded him, the better he liked it. He was invited by another member, but she made him available to everybody. I wasn't there, but I assume somebody just pushed him too far. I haven't heard the autopsy results yet."

"Will they find drugs in his system?"

"I'd be shocked if they didn't. The only question is which ones and how much."

"What about Brandi?"

"She went to her sister's place out of town. She wants to stay as invisible as possible."

She stared off into space for about 30 seconds, then "Put your CPA hat on, Nando. If I were a client, what would you advise me to do?"

I had actually thought about this. "Wendy's family is going to want to hush this up and shift the blame. Get Wendy to buy out all your shares for enough money to start over somewhere. Get a fully two-way NDA: you can't talk about her and she can't talk about you. Move to Seattle or someplace else as far away as you can get. Don't date anybody for a year."

"That won't be a problem, Nando! I was thinking ten years."

"Maybe you should try men again, Mel?"

She looked at me really funny. "What do you mean, again?"

"It's a hunch, but I had a cousin who had a very bad experience with the first guy she fell for. You know the type, the hot exciting bad boy on the outside who turned out to be a mean, controlling total piece of shit on the inside. She called it her gay rebound. She was with women only for the next five years. She finally figured out she liked both, and now she's happy.

She made a sad kind of snort. 'Well I guess Wendy was my hot piece of shit, all right. It's not even really her fault, but her stepfather's. The cycle of abuse repeats story. But she could make anybody rebound once again, even me, I suppose. Wendy was after you too! Brandi didn't say much about you to anybody, but she sure smiles a lot lately. Wendy inferred you would make a nice trophy bull."

"To be used and then discarded, like you?"

"Yep. You would never be anybody's trophy would you Nando?"

"Nope, but I might be your bull, in private, if you wanted to try to get back up on the horse again, so to speak."

Her face froze. She blinked. "You better go talk to your boss. He is about to freak! Thanks, Nando."

Wallace held the door open for her as she departed, and then stepped in to talk to me. We had a long talk, until I left for the party at Shirley and Hal's.

* * * * *

As a approached the country club house, there were arrow signs and a valet parking stand! Wow. The valet made a face when he looked at my car. In front of me were Range Rovers, Jaguars, BMWs, and even a Lamborghini. My battered Toyota Camry looked out of place. At least there was an ES350 behind me. They were parking cars on a grassy area near the driving range, but there were lots of F150s, F250s, Rams, Silverados and Tundras already parked. I guess this was not going to be an intimate little gathering. My dick was disappointed.

Hal and Shirley were near the front door, greeting everyone who came through. The place was jumping. They both shook my hand warmly, but Shirley pulled me in for a hug and whispered in my ear, "Stay until everyone else leaves Nando!" Things were looking up!

There was an open bar out by the pool, along with two big buffet tables of appetizers, and one of desserts. I was glad I skipped dinner. I made up a plate, got a Perrier, and began to look around. I didn't recognize anyone so far, except Hal and Shirley.

Suddenly Shirley appeared at my elbow. "Some of the people are just our friends, but most of these folks work for our suppliers, Nando. Uniform rentals, tool suppliers, transport companies, fleet service companies, parts guys, etc. Our purchasing folks run this shindig. We have them out once a year for a face to face and give out some fun 'awards' to people that go above and beyond. Sometimes it gets a little rowdy, but we all have a good time. Mingle, you'll meet some interesting people."

I stood by a table for a few minutes and polished off my appetizers and then started to circulate and look around. The first thing I noticed was people taking off all their clothes, folding them onto their chairs, and jumping into the pool. I felt overdressed.