|
For so many years the Poliz had held absolute power over the cities. They had evolved from being the peacekeepers to just the keepers. There was no one to complain to when a pol officer took someone's property, trashed a home in the proceeds of a search or killed a man because he looked a bit suspect. Women were fair game. The only ones that were off limits were prostitutes, or “She's” as they came to be known. Always spelt with a capital S, to signify their place in society. It was taboo for a pol to go with a She. None could remember why, but it had been that way since the Comsat Company took over the country. It was assumed by Joe Public that they were only utilised by Comsat, so not one was touched. In fact, those women were almost venerated, like the ancient Geisha. Only the mega-rich got a sniff there.
The non-use of prostitutes by pols was also used as a form of control. The main one really. If a pol got too far out of control, like `public` child molesting or killing too many people in one go the wheels went into motion. Comsat Intel. would hit his home before he got back to the station and any female there `disappeared`, later to turn up as a She. No choice, no discussion. Usually in the worst form of service. You can always tell ex-pol females. They're the ones performing the basest, vilest acts. Another reason not to get involved with them. Some years down the line, a pol could be fucking a relative.. For the She involved, there were two punishments. They were relegated to the lowest rung where they would serve the sickest, most vile of She customers in ways that even the most fertile of imaginations could hardly envision. If the She was already lowly, she would simply be disfigured. Removal of the lips and nose was usual. Either punishment invariably led to the suicide of the woman. Life in this world was hard enough without those added encumbrances.
Dec 71 was one of the more reserved pols. Nobody liked him, or rather, nobody knew him enough to like him. Successive bosses had tried to move him to other divisions or even discredit him, but nobody knew what buttons to press and he was too smart. He had too much dirt on too many people, including his present boss, who up to now, had restricted himself to sending him on the shittiest jobs around. He got to the grade of Dec by only wasting two partners. Quite conservative in comparison to others that he moved up the promotion ladder with. Maybe it was the manner in which he killed. It scared people. He scared people. In a place where extreme violence and fear was the norm, it was a remarkable achievement.
Maybe it was his looks. The skin of his face was white and pallid, like that of an unadorned model by Tussaud’s . Unshaded by colour or reactions even in extremis, it was as a death mask. The palest lashes framed eyes that were almost black and his thin red lips outlined teeth the same white as his skin. They called him The Shark. Sharky for short. If he smiled at you, you said your goodbyes, that was a given. No doubts about it.
The night in question was windy. Such a wind as had not been witnessed in that city for many years. It howled and keened around the buildings like a pack of ravening wolves, hungry to get at the occupants. No one that night traversed the rubbish-strewn streets where Dickensian alleyways whistled a warning to anyone who cared to listen.. Except The Shark. Nothing stopped his patrols. The wind whipped at his white hair, which, in the tiniest of lulls settled back into its original place as if unwilling to perturb his cool countenance too much. Slowly he walked to the Pela building where the call had come from. A dispatcher had relayed the tag to him. He had sounded shaken.
"Dec71, Dec 71 we got a messy one over at the Pela!"
A messy one, shit. It was going to be a long night. A tiny sigh escaped his lips. The Pela was where the Shes were quartered. Any call there was bound to be big trouble because Comsat Intel usually dealt in-house with any of those problems. He would be shadowed all the time by at least one of those lumbering, staring guys. Recording all with their scanning eyes and micro-memories. Digitally enhanced humans. Fuck `em! The thought flashed violently through his mind. The Shark could cope with them, he had his ways. A sardonic smile moved the slivers of red that masqueraded as lips, and the wind shuddered and recoiled.
The muted lighting in the Pela amused Sharky. He knew that the low level blue tints threw his face into a cubist nightmare. In fact, the cool dim colours made the corridors look like he was moving through an aquarium, his territory. On the twelfth floor the lift doors opened into hues of pink. This told him that the She that lived here was highly regarded. Warm colours were rare, the tints were hard to come by from the chemical companies, and so anything of that hue was an expensive commodity. A Comsat Intel man was glowering at the door of 124.
"I'm Dec71. I got a call."
The man swung his heavy arm out and pushed open the door for him. The pink had turned to red in there. He could see from the doorway that the She had suffered. Blood spatters patterned the walls and floor. A heat haze rose from her body cavity filling the room with a sickly coppery smell, tainted with shit. Her head was tilted crazily toward him, mouth wide in a rictus. A frozen scream. Entrails lay over her wide spread thighs like a shiny pink satin throw, the colour shocking against her tawny skin. Other officers acknowledged his arrival with nods, busy with pictures and swabs and the like. Buzzing the corpse like flies. One pol pointed to the bathroom.
"Her sister's in there Sir."
Entering the room his eyes widened at the sight of the woman. She sat on the toilet with the lid down cradling her head in her hands. Her long thick hair cascaded down to the floor and she was naked. It was her skin that got him. Mocha was the word that whispered into his brain and licked his ear. Mocha coloured velveteen, and she was long, very long. If she stood up she'd be over the six-foot mark, easily matching him. A small breast tipped with a chocolate nipple rested on a silky thigh, showing the sway of her body as she rocked. A long string of pearls emphasised the movement. She rocked herself, and she rocked him. At an unprecedented loss, Sharky stood silent.
He hadn't encountered anyone like her in an age. Not since Vereen, his wife who could make him react in ways never achieved since. She was the only one who had ever reached him emotionally and he thought that the facility had been lost. He got hard just thinking of her. The way he had lost her to Comsat made something fall over inside of him and he mentally shook himself in order to focus.
"I didn't see anything."
Her voice was quiet, shaky. Still he stood watching. Her fingers writhed in the blanket of hair that cascaded down. In the background Sharky could hear the shower running in the cube but there was no steam apparent. An extractor in the bathroom? He raised an eyebrow, special people indeed. He prompted the woman with low questions. Name, relationship to the victim, what happened, all the seemingly inane questions that could provide the key he needed to the case. Whilst a check on his I.T pad told him that this woman was not a She, her tremulous voice rose above the noise of the water.
" I heard a mans voice shouting. Banging and screaming. It was terrible, like a wild animal was loose in there. I stayed in here, it was obvious from the noise there was nothing I could do. I just pressed the panic button and waited. I, I need a shower..."
Understanding, or strangely not caring that she hadn't left the room and had had no contact with the crime scene, he felt an urge. Deep in the buried part of him Sharky felt a stirring. He needed to see, to watch her in the water. He stuck his head out of the door.
"This one's in a mess, I'll be a while."
The lack of response from the Intel. guy registered as a bit of a shock. This must be a big one to rattle those guys to that extent. To leave him alone with her was unheard of. He briefly wondered if they had instructions… a flicker of elation eclipsed his thoughts. Turning, he saw that she was standing, unsure of what to do next. Sharky moved to her and took her hand. She trembled like a doe and seemed unable to move. Gently he put his arm around her and she collapsed into him. Her heartbeat hammered through their chests and a faint sheen of sweat covered her skin. Pushing a strand of hair from her neck, he sniffed there and discovered a soft world of almonds and faint vanilla. He saw in the corner of his eye the movement of a pulse. The predator awoke. He looked at the shower, then at her.
"Sharla, come. I'll take care of you."
Sharky took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her bodily toward the shower. At the cubicle Sharla’s breath became ragged and he thought she was going to fall. To physically put her in there would have meant getting wet, so he took off his shirt. She stared at him. He was an awesome sight. Emblazoned across his chest and up over his left shoulder was a tattoo. Unusual anyway - seen as a form of self-harm or gang membership- on a pol it was unheard of. His chest was firm but not hard, a slight sag under each nipple belied the age that his face did not display. Her eyes followed the tattoo. It was all in red, a deep blood red and the pattern was of a strange nature. Swirls and curlicues seemed to move over him as if drawn freehand, to no design that she could discern. It was in dramatic contrast to his skin and face. Sharla stared with her coffee coloured eyes, mesmerised.
"Someone owed me a favour, and it's red simply because it was a big favour."
She nodded, accepting his meagre explanation. She knew how big a deal the tattoo was. Sharky steadied her in the shower with his arms outstretched, rivulets of water flowing over his face and neck. Her crying began. A soft sob developed into a high- pitched keening noise that reminded him of a memory vid. he had seen once. A woman in a full-length black gown and cowl had knelt in a street somewhere long ago cradling the body of a child. The despair in Sharla’s voice shook him more now than that woman’s had then. Unable to listen for long he pulled her to him, encasing her in his unexpected embrace. Unexpected for them both. He felt the sinews of time stretch to fill the time that had passed since he last held someone. Wracked with sobs Sharla slithered slowly to her knees her arms encircling his thighs, and Sharky felt the warm water from her hair spread over the front of his trousers. She in turn felt his heat. An unmistakable bulge grew against her cheek and slowly her head moved up and down massaging him, simultaneously finding comfort there.
Sharla moved to face him and placed her open mouth over his hardening cock. Deeply, slowly, she exhaled hot breath through the damp cloth. Sharky’s eyes rolled up under his lids as he puffed out his own air in a moan. Pulling apart her arms he sank to his knees and their lips met as their gazes locked. Sense and self-preservation were a distant call as he gave in to himself. In that moment only they existed. Like being inside a soap bubble that was soft, moist and floating away from the boundaries of reality. He rained bruising kisses on her, grazing his teeth against her flesh, licking salted tears from her face as he wound his fingers in the hair at the nape of the neck. He barely noticed Sharla had freed him until she lowered her lips to his cock head and took him in.
Her tongue flickered and flashed over the swollen flesh and full lips pulled blood to the tip with their soft power. His pre cum and her saliva soon soaked the shaft and Sharla moved her hand to hold him. He had to watch, the sensation was incredible. What was she doing? As he looked down he could see her thumb slide up the top side of his cock, her hand at an angle. She slid to the top and her slicked fingers and thumb formed a downward pointing cup, which held, then gently twisted, before sliding to the base to be replaced by its mate, which moved up to repeat the mantra. Her hands performed their mating ritual, ensuring that his cock was covered at all times in a continually moving snake of fingers. Sharky felt his climax was near.
Sharla heard his breath catch and slowed her movements. Releasing his stiffness, she reached up and pulled off her string of pearls. His first thought was that they were going to be pushed up his backside to enhance his orgasm. That didn't bother him, it was an old trick, and it worked. He watched as this beauty wound the string around her hand taking care not to overlap Her brown skin contrasted with the cream of the pearls and in his mind he made pearls of his own over her. Accordingly his cock twitched and swayed like a cobra entranced by a snake charmer. She reached between her spread thighs and coated the beads with her slickness. The unadorned hand smeared him with his own pre cum, then continued the rhythmic massage alongside the other. Pearls rippled over the hot suede of his cock smoothly but firmly enough to dramatically increase the sensations he had.
"Jesus Chri.. ohhh."
The guttural blasphemy leapt from his lips uninvited. Sharla looked up into his eyes and whispered
" Now, fuck me now."
Sharky dropped onto his knees and pushed her onto her back. Splaying her legs Sharla lewdly fingered apart her pussy lips for him. They glistened in welcome. He couldn't take anymore. His cock dived into her as if by its own volition whilst the pain as her nails dug into his buttocks spurred him on, driving into her like there was no tomorrow. They writhed frantically on the floor, made slippier by their sweat than by any water spilt previously. Flesh slapped noisily against the floor, against more flesh. Theirs was an insatiable hunger. As animals they thrashed until his cry matched her wail and they sank panting into each other.
Eons seemed to pass before his eyes and senses cleared. Raising up onto his elbows he looked at her. She looked back.
"They know. They are listening, filming."
Her words shook him. He knew better than most what that meant, and Vereena, his wife, came into his minds eye.
"How? Why?"
The short questions elicited a longer answer. The dead woman was not a She. Sharla was. Comsat had been told by Sharky’s boss to wait for some kind of disaster at the Perla, and when it did, Sharla would be called in. All her details had been falsified in the records so his I.T. pad wouldn't give her away. She was forced -by means that she wouldn't divulge to him- to entrap Sharky so that he would be caught with her and therefore finished. Her tears began to fall again as he stroked her hair. They both knew that however much had been promised, Sharla would never be paid or praised and that there was no way back for either of them. Ritual punishments and public vilification would follow as surely as sheep will follow the Judas Ram.
Time ticked on as they stroked each other. They kissed, she cried, they held each other in a dreadful embrace and looked upon the blue capsules she had concealed in her hand. Sharla had known what would become of them, and had come prepared. She looked him straight in the eye and tried to read him.
"I've had longer than you to think about this, Sharky."
"You'd be surprised honey. The punishments they deal out, I've already felt. We're not going down that road."
He smiled his sardonic smile and took one from her. Their left hands joined, right hands made into fists that contained their only way out.
The Comsat Intel man opened the door slowly to see the two kneeling with their arms around each other. Their lips met in a kiss that was never ending; yet the heat was already dissipated, gone, with the essence of them.
END
More erotica by Brazilia French
|
