Killer Dreams Ch. 06-10

Lars Anderson's POV

Tempe Mission Palm Hotel, Arizona

September 20 ^th , 2021

Thwock. Thwock. Thwock.

I walked naked around the leather bench, the lambskin flogger trailing at my side. Debbie's eyes struggled to follow me. She wasn't drugged; she was in subspace, a relaxed and pleasurable state that my bondage sluts would reach in a good session. The endorphins her body released had her flying, and her mind converted most of the pain into pleasure. "Fuck me, Master," she begged. Her eyes went between the whip and my stiff cock, wondering which she would get next.

She stuck her tongue out, hoping for a taste, but she hadn't earned that honor. I could tell she was close. "Don't you DARE cum without permission, slut." I walked behind her, out of sight, watching for the signs on her body that signaled her approaching orgasm.

Picking a spot just below her left butt cheek, I held up the tails with my left hand while aiming the strike with my right. Swinging the flogger with a medium stroke, it landed with a loud "THWOCK" on the sensitive flesh of her tanned thigh. She struggled against the pain but was going nowhere. Her flushed face pointed to the right, her left cheek tight to the leather, and tears and saliva puddled under her. I picked my next spot, striking a little lower each time, the flogger leaving raised red marks behind on her skin. It had enough weight to bruise her flesh if used too heavily, and I was right at the edge of that. My weighted swings brought the blood to the surface and made her nerves sensitive to the slightest touch.

She moaned or yipped with each impact, but she wasn't going anywhere. I'd encased her wrists in leather cuffs, using hooks to attach them to her ankles. I kept her knees spread wide using an adjustable bar with Velcro cuffs. The spreader bar kept her from closing her legs, leaving her swollen pussy and sensitive inner thighs an easy target for my tools. I'd tied her ankles to the legs of the hotel bench, and she could do nothing but vibrate with need as I kept up my assault on her body.

Debbie was a budding pain slut, one of the rare girls who could convert pain to pleasure and orgasm from just that. She'd met a young Master on Craigslist who enslaved and abused her, leaving her with permanent scars on her back. After that, Debbie was hesitant to give control over her body to anyone else. She started attending a BDSM club in Phoenix as a college senior, and that's where we played our first time. She was my regular when in town.

The rest of the time, Debbie wore a Club collar. Submissives were vulnerable to exploitation, and the Clubs made it safe for everyone to explore their kinks. She wasn't a prostitute; no one paid to have sex with her, though the Club didn't charge membership for their collars. She could choose any Master or Mistress for the night, provided they followed the Club rules and her hard limits. Hers were sensible; no toilet play, drawing blood, permanent marks, public exposure, or breath play. Club play areas were all public or semi-public, and there were severe penalties for violations.

There were hockey groupies and bondage clubs in every town, so getting laid wasn't the problem. Professional hockey players were notorious party animals, and a wedding ring didn't stop them all. My kinks led me to different places than my teammates. The Clubs and the people frequenting them were serious about their privacy. Politicians, business executives, professionals, and other celebrities were members, and no one wanted their name attached to kinky sex clubs. The Summit Club, my home club in St. Paul, had reciprocal memberships with clubs in many of the towns we visited. With my Nordic good looks and muscled body, I had my pick of women to dominate.

Debbie was the only one I let kneel at my feet when we played the Coyotes. I didn't love her, but I loved our scenes. She was so responsive and willing, and her orgasms were explosive. Debbie loved the whip, and I was one of the best with it. I loved the feeling of dominance, but I wasn't a sadist who got off on dishing out pain. I liked the trust, the control, and the orgasms I could rip from a woman's body when I worked them just right. I got off on teasing and edging my subs, finally fucking them into an explosive orgasm that left them breathless. The girls loved when the Wild came to town, and I always had my pick of willing submissives.

I dropped the flogger and picked up the paddle. Debbie shuddered, knowing her ass was about to be lit on fire. I smirked as I took aim, wondering if her Daddy ever spanked that tight little ass. Probably not; her father was a prominent local television anchor. Maybe it was her mom? Regardless, she became a hot little pain slut who could keep her mouth shut. That was a rare thing these days.

Debbie wiggled her muscled ass high with her back arched, silently begging me for more. A few whacks on each cheek, and she was quivering. Her ass cheeks were turning a deep red, the earlier squares from the crop and the stripes from the flogger merging with the blows from the maple paddle. I pushed a button on the vibrating plug in her ass, setting it to a pulsating pattern.

Her pussy was leaking like a broken faucet. "Sir, may I cum," she begged from under her curtain of curly hair.

"No." I gave her another ten strokes, watching the telltale signs as she fought to hold back the inevitable. Flinging the paddle away, I used my hand and smacked her pussy hard. "CUM FOR ME, MY NEEDY SLUT!" She screamed in pleasure, squirting all over the leather. I didn't wait for her tremors to end. I grabbed her hips and slammed my dick into her with one savage thrust, forcing another scream and another powerful orgasm from her. "Cum at will," I told her as I started pounding her from behind.

I don't know if she knew when one orgasm ended and the next began. She was barely conscious when I ripped the plug out, tore off the condom, and sprayed my cum all over her scarlet ass. The white trails looked fantastic on the bright red canvas beside her abused holes. Taking her phone from her purse, I took a few pictures of her for later.

She'd been used hard and put away wet, as my Papa used to say. I released her from the bindings, catching her as she collapsed into my arms. I carried her into the bathroom, setting her in the jacuzzi tub and starting the water. While it filled with cool water, I grabbed two bottles of orange juice from the fridge. I knelt by her side, letting her sip the drink while the cold water soothed her heated skin. "Are you all right?"

"Mmmm... You were perfect, sir."

I was about to climb in behind her when I heard someone pounding on my door. "Maybe next time I'll have to gag you. I think you woke up the whole wing." I walked out to the door; the team equipment manager was outside. I cracked the door open, standing behind it. "What's up?"

"Coach needs to see you, Lars. Room 214."

Shit. "I'll be there in a few minutes." I closed the door and went back to the bathroom. "I'll be back soon, baby girl. Relax and drink your juice."

"Yes, sir."

I took a quick shower, then dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo before heading out. When I got to room 214, the door was open, and two police officers were standing by him. "What's going on, Coach?"

"Close the door, Lars." My stomach was flipping as I closed the door to the suite. "Have a seat, son."

"Why are the police here?"

"I don't know how to say this, Lars, so I'll go ahead and say it. Police in St. Paul found Tracy dead in her condominium this morning."

The news hit me like a brick. "What happened?"

"Someone killed her," the first policeman said. "We'll take you to the airport, and a detective from the St. Paul Police will pick you up there."

"Take as much time as you need, Lars. If you need anything, and I mean ANYTHING, you call the team and let us know."

I sat there, stunned. I loved Tracy, and now she's gone? Who the hell could do that to her? I needed to find out. "I have to pack."

"Go. I'm sorry, Lars. We all liked Tracy."

"Thank you." I looked at the police officers. "I'll meet you at the lobby in ten minutes."

I practically ran back to my room. "Bad news from home, Debbie," I said as I walked into the bathroom. She was taking a shower. I threw all my stuff into my travel kit. "I'm heading home now. Let yourself out. I'll leave money for a cab."

She had stopped the water and was leaning out of the shower door. "Are you going to be all right, sir?"

"It's going to be a mess. I'm sure you'll be seeing it on the news. Look, I'll call you when I can. I have to go."

I was on a plane home an hour later.

Chapter 7

Detective Talia Devine's POV

Police Headquarters, St. Paul, Minnesota

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

The Robbery/Homicide Unit had twelve detectives assigned to it. For a city our size, our murder rate wasn't that high—thirty-five last year, and on pace to beat that in 2021. On average, we worked fewer than five cases, and most of us focused on the more common property crimes. Today? All but two of us were assigned to the Tracy Hardin murder case.

The Chief and the politicians were after us to catch this guy and fast. I'd watched the morning news while eating my fruit and yogurt for breakfast. Calling the coverage 'brutal' doesn't fully describe it. The popularity of crime television shows had convinced people that cops and crime scene investigators were all-knowing. Everyone thought crimes got solved in 43 minutes without commercial breaks! That wasn't the way things work, but try telling them that!

People in the Twin Cities area were outraged over the death and wanted this killer found immediately! Captain Lewis, our press spokesman, looked like a boxer who'd fought above his weight after the press conference late last night. "No, we didn't have any suspects. Yes, her fiancé has been interviewed but is not a suspect. No, we are not releasing any further details on the crime scene." You can imagine how that went over.

The reality was that this case wasn't going to be quick. In 60% of murder cases, you know who the perpetrator is before the first detective arrives on the scene. All we do is gather evidence to make the case stronger. Another 10% are solved before the scene is cleared. Why? Most murders are crimes of passion that occur with little planning or forethought. Most killers are either known to the victim or stupid, or both, and it doesn't take long to figure it out. Of the rest, another 10% are solved within a day or two. It's the remaining ones that give us fits. Gang-related homicides are tough to clear because witnesses don't want to come forward. Sometimes the killer isn't stupid, and we must work for it. And sometimes, we don't have enough evidence to indict and convict. Our department has a 86% clearance rate, compared to a statewide average of 68%. Captain Cullen was rightly proud of his detectives.

I had a feeling this one wasn't going to be quick or painless. It didn't feel like a crime of passion. This killer had taken his time and enjoyed the moment, which meant he planned this crime in detail. He enjoyed making her suffer while he followed the script. If he did half of the things the killer in Bloody Knife did, he might get away with it. That fictional character was an evil genius.

The crime scene was too disturbing and sensational to remain secret for long. Sooner or later, someone would talk about the crime scene or leak a photo to a reporter. When they figured out the murder matched the book, things would get exponentially worse. The only good outcome is an arrest before the flaming bag of poo on our front porch (that would be this case) gets stomped on.

I had a lot on my mind as I exited the elevator and walked into the Robbery/Homicide Division office. Someone had brought in a bag of Bruegger's Bagels! Score! I grabbed a cinnamon raisin and popped it in the toaster while I grabbed a cup of coffee. I grimaced as I took a sip. Cop coffee was notoriously bad, and our detectives lived on the stuff. I think the day I broke down and cleaned the big pot was the first time it had been done in years.

I had enough time to butter my bagel and sit at my desk before Captain Cullen poked his head out of his office. He looked like he'd been here all night. "I want everyone to update the boards before our morning meeting. We'll have guests," he warned.

"Just what we need," James Maloney said. "We've got enough shit on our plate without babysitting the VIPs."

"They won't stay away, not with all the public scrutiny," I replied. I left half my bagel on my desk as I grabbed my laptop and followed James into the conference room a minute later. The whiteboard Detective Maloney used yesterday to hand out investigative assignments started to fill with information. I'd printed out my notes from last night and taped the papers onto my section. I'd recorded every detail of the murder scene from David Hardin's book, a total of forty-seven things. Next to them, I put any corresponding observations from the crime scene. I'd found twenty-two matches to what I knew of the crime scene.

Television lets detectives walk through a crime scene like it's no big deal, but that isn't how it goes. The LAST thing you want is to contaminate a crime scene with a bunch of people and their stuff. The patrol officer did a good job; he got in and got out. We had his fingerprints, DNA, and shoeprints now. We could eliminate anything he left behind. He set up the crime scene tape at the condo door and waited with his partner.

When the Homicide detectives arrived, they waited outside. The officer's body cam video showed them all they needed to see about the victim. The scene was secure, and they kept it locked down until the BCA Crime Scene technicians arrived. Those techs went in wearing gloves and Tyvek suits, taking fingerprints as they processed the scene to the bedroom. Everything was photographed, measured, and cataloged before removal.

Only then were the detectives allowed in. I'd accompanied James into the bedroom before the Coroner's Office removed the body. Thank God that I didn't throw up. It was that bad.

I sat at my place and opened my laptop. Looking around the room, I saw a few things on the board that I could add to my spreadsheet. I now had twenty-six individual items that matched the book.

Detective Maloney was marking up a timeline. As the Lead Detective, he needed to maintain the big picture and use the rest of us to go after specific things. He was still adding notes when the door to the room opened. "Chief on the watch," Captain Cullen announced.

I stood up with the others. We stayed at attention as the brass filed in and the Captain made introductions. We had Captain Lewis (Press Liaison), Assistant Chief John Fordham (Major Crimes), Police Chief Tonya Robbins, and County Attorney Michael Klinesmith. "Captain, this is your meeting," the Chief said. "We're here to listen and lend our support."

Nobody believed that for a second, but our Captain turned the meeting over to Detective Maloney. "I'll start with the timeline," he said as he stood by his section of the board. "Tracy Hardin was last seen alive at 10:22 on Sunday night. One of her coworkers called for an Uber before leaving the condominium, so this time is solid. We had no signs of forced entry. The unit keycard does not retain access information, and the deadbolt and chain were both intact. The coroner places the time of death between 11 pm and 3 am. Justin, what did you learn from her coworkers?"

Detective Justin Clark stood by his board. On it, he had the six women's names, and next to them were the times they arrived and left. "The hockey watch party was low-key. Tracy was gracious and welcoming; no one noticed anything wrong with her, and she did not show or express any apprehension or worry. She had several glasses of wine with the snacks she'd laid out. After the game, the ladies left. Three of them texted Tracy to thank her but got no response. Mrs. Lodenstein had a meeting with her Monday at 8:30 and texted her several times when she did not show up. She hadn't called in and didn't respond to calls. Security at her condominium complex was contacted and verified her car was still in its parking space. Police conducted the welfare check at 10:14."

Maloney made sure his timeline matched. "Did the ladies know of anyone who would want to harm her?"

"They weren't aware of anything," Justin replied.

"I'm following up on the work side," Detective Anna Golden volunteered. "Tracy put hundreds of criminals behind bars. Restricting my search to those convicted of felonies for sexual assault or violent crimes, released in the past year, and known to be in the state, I had eighteen potentials. I'm working with State Parole on those."

"My prosecutors get threats all the time," Michael said, "but none were reported against Miss Hardin in the past two months. My office provided Detective Golden a list of all the threats Tracy received in the last five years."

"And there were no matches with my suspects," Anna concluded.

Wonderful. "Lewis, anything on the canvass?"

Detective Lewis Ferguson stood up. "Nothing of note. The condo unit below the victims was empty; it had been on the market for the last 62 days. No one on her floor heard anything, and no one could recall any suspicious people."

"Security video?"

"Our computer guys tried, but the hard drive bricked. I'm looking through surveillance videos from nearby businesses, traffic cameras, and adjoining buildings. I haven't seen any suspicious behavior, but I don't know what I'm looking for, either."

The Chief spoke up. "Do we have any suspects? What about the fiancé, Lars Anderson?"

Hank Johnson spoke up. "He's ruled out based on the timeline, Chief. The Wild went directly from the X to the airport and boarded a plane for Phoenix. I confirmed with the team that Lars was on the plane. They arrived in Phoenix at 2:50 am Minneapolis time and didn't arrive at the hotel until 3:30. I verified he signed in for his room. It's physically impossible for him to have returned in time to kill his fiancé. Phoenix detectives put him on a plane yesterday, and I spoke to him last night when he arrived. He doesn't know of anyone who would want to kill Tracy. He was pretty upset last night, so I'm interviewing him again this afternoon."

Maloney let out a sigh. "And that leaves us with her ex-husband, David Hardin. Detective Devine noted some parallels between the crime scene and his first novel. Talia?"

"Last night, I went through David's first book, Bloody Knife, and the crime scene. I identified forty-seven specific aspects of the fictional murder and entered them on this spreadsheet. We are up to twenty-six matches, and I expect we'll see more as the crime scene evidence and coroner's report come out."

"You're fucking kidding me," Ferguson said. "Her ex-husband and ex-cop is a suspect?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. "The parallels are too strong to be anything but intentional. David Hardin put his killer fantasy from years ago into play, or someone else is using it as a playbook."

"Is there any evidence connecting David Hardin to the crime," the Chief asked?

"Not yet," Maloney replied. "We don't have him on the video, and nothing places him at the crime scene."

"Tread carefully," Assistant Chief Fordham said. "He's rich and famous now. We don't want to go after him until we're loaded for bear."

"Understood, sir," Maloney replied. "We're still early in the investigation."

"This isn't going to go away quickly," the Chief concluded. "Do your jobs, Detectives. Let us deal with the shitshow this case is creating."

"This is already a shitshow," I mumbled under my breath.