Only One Draw Ch. 04

Hardesty dropped his laptop on the dining table, pulled the background material he brought home out of his briefcase, fanned them out on the tabletop, and moved to his two highest priorities before going to work: he took a shower in the bathroom off his bedroom and padded back to the living area in just athletic shorts, and he went to the refrigerator and liberated two cans of cold beer.

It was time to review what they knew. Four murders of T-girls were four too many no matter what anyone thought of T-girls. He arranged the notes and photos on the four victims separately on the table and opened his laptop.

The first e-mail was from Toby, from that morning, saying that he had an assignment to go to in the afternoon--a modeling session, "with benefits" for an artist, Griffin Gould, at a given address in the Dupont Circle area. This was standard procedure for Toby, as far as he had been willing to go to let Hardesty monitor and backstop his escort work. Whenever he could, he let the Vice cop know where he was going on assignment. It wasn't so that Hardesty could say he couldn't go--it was to give the cop a reference point in case Hardesty had to come save him. He'd had to do that on more than one occasion already. If he hadn't done it on one occasion Toby would probably be dead now. But that hadn't stopped Toby from continuing with his risky business. The phrase "with benefits" told Hardesty that sex would be included.

This note set off Hardesty's "concerned" buttons. The name Griffin Gould was known to him. In his interview with Natalie, the T-girl who had had a close encounter with the rapist, Gould's name had come up as an artist for whom the first three T-girls had posed for drawings. Hardesty didn't like such consequences. He had a note to check on whether the fourth victim, whoever that was--she hadn't been identified yet--had also posed for Gould. And now Toby was posing for him as well. The one difference was that Toby, although androgynous looking and willing to cross-dress, when required, was not, physically, a transformed T-girl like the others were. Regardless, he'd have to have a talk with Toby on the dangers of contact with Gould. Gould wasn't a black sex-crazy cab driver, as Natalie had escaped from, but he was somehow a link in all of this. Again, Hardesty didn't like consequences.

The second e-mail to pop up was from Natalie, saying, "I've remembered something else--something important, I think, about my assailant. Let's set up another meeting." That she didn't just tell him what she knew in the e-mail indicated to Hardesty that she was just teasing him--angling for another fuck. She might have another tidbit, but he'd wager that it was nothing more than a tidbit. That one could wait, he thought.

The third e-mail was one he'd been expecting one of these days and dreading. It was from the police department's internal affairs chief, DeLong Black, a big, hulking black man who every cop in the department stayed as clear of as possible. The e-mail began with, "It's come to my attention that your principal residence isn't in the District and that you're living with a male prostitute." It continued with giving Hardesty an appointment to appear before the man the following Thursday to explain the situation.

Hardesty barely had time to absorb this message when Toby was entering the apartment. He saw Hardesty at the table and gave him a wan smile. He went directly to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of beer, popped the top, and started drinking it as he came back to where Hardesty was sitting. He put one hand on Hardesty's bare shoulder while swigging the beer with the other, and looked at the laptop screen, seeing the e-mail and who it was from before Hardesty blanked the screen. Then he looked over at the four piles of crime material on the table.

"Oh, shit, Hardesty," he said. "Have there been more?"

"Yes. You looked bushed. Was it a difficult assignment?"

"It was ravishing, yes. I'm whopped. The man is building quite a collection of unusual drawings. I didn't think I'd fit in with them, but... hey, wait, I've seen the photos of Liam before, but these other three. I think I know them all. And all of them have posed for Griffin Gould. I've seem paintings of them on his studio walls."

"I'm not surprised you know them. I think you may be too close to... this fourth one? You know this T-girl too."

"Yes, that looks like Shawnda. She was Shawn Stafford before transforming down at the University of Virginia hospital a year ago. She just started escorting recently. It took her a while to fully recover. She isn't... is she... but she must be... from these photos."

"Yes. Found in Rock Creek Park this morning. That's where I spent my morning--why I wasn't here when you got up. Give me a minute." He picked up his cellphone, called his partner, Glen Whitehall; and passed on the identification.

"Yes, yes. From Toby. I know. I'll do what I can there."

Then he turned back, and said, "It's disturbing that you've had contact with all four of these--and that your john this afternoon, Griffin Gould, has too, I've been told--at least with the first three victims. I think you may be too close to this, Toby. You need to be careful."

"I'm always careful, buddy," Toby responded, a bit of warning in his voice. "And I don't run with these girls. They're in a different world from me, but, with this art series--it's focused on T-girls. I've seen them all on walls--all four of them, both at Gould's art studio and at the Farragut Art Gallery, where they handle his work. And they were at that exhibition at the Artechouse I went to."

"All of them? This fourth victim too?"

"Yes. This Gould guy is into trans people. I thought it was just for this art series, but I saw, from the art on his walls this afternoon and from what else I've gathered, that it goes further than that. He likes to fuck them too. His assistant, a flighty Italian guy--very good looking, of course--who is all over the place at Gould's house, is a fully done T-girl too. That surprised the hell out of me. She dresses and looks like a guy, and she wanted to be called a 'he' whenever I talked with her, but I saw that she's modeled for Gould for this series too. She's a fully transformed T-girl, breasts and all. A real knockout that way."

"OK, could you check around and make up a list of who might be in danger by being a transformed T-girl and posing for Gould? Identify, if you can, others he's drawn at least once. He may--or may not--be our perpetrator, but he certainly seems to be a catalyst for whatever is going on."

Toby laughed. "You want me to stay out of it but to build you a list of possible victims?" He opened his cellphone to make a note of that and found there was a message from the escort service. Some rich john by the name of Erick Royal--not likely, Toby thought--wanted to book him for an evening and night, with benefits, on the following Wednesday. Big bucks were involved. When the client had specified "with benefits," he meant nearly the works. Toby was to dress male for a good restaurant, but with slip, bra, and panties underneath. And, more expensive, he was to come with a medical clearance dated that day. That meant barebacking and that would be very expensive indeed. It wouldn't be a logistical problem, though. The escort service had a twenty-four-hour access contract for its male prostitutes with a clinic. Toby could be checked again after the date--all at the escort service's expense, coming out of what the client paid. The clinics also now had wonder drugs to clean up any STD problems. The after-date clinic visits usually came into play when whip work was involved, which also was extremely expensive for the client. It wasn't unknown for Toby to take such assignments, though.

Toby pressed OK, not knowing the name or having other plans, made his note about asking around the trans community, and returned his attention to Hardesty.

"I'm sorry. I know how it sounds." Hardesty said, knowing he was walking on eggshells here. "It can't be helped, though. You could give us a leg up on preventing the next murder. Just do it very discreetly, please. I don't want you getting hurt." He almost said more, but he didn't. Toby could tell that he wanted too, though. Hardesty wasn't the only one with feelings for the other in this unusual and delicate relationship. They were reciprocated and it tore Toby apart both to want to build something with Hardesty and also to be his own man.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said, as Hardesty stood and went back to the refrigerator for another beer. He leaned over and brought the screen back up and scanned the message from the police department internal affairs chief before Hardesty returned. He turned the chair Hardesty had been sitting in and, pulling his trousers and briefs off, sat down on it and raised his legs in a V.

"Toby," Hardesty said as he walked back. "I know you've had a rough afternoon. We don't need to--"

"I know you're keyed up and we haven't had a chance to do it in days. Just get rid of the tension. Nothing rough. But I want you inside me." He wasn't really in the mood for this, but he'd seen that Hardesty had gone hard as soon as he returned home. He could tell the other signs. Hardesty needed to lay someone.

The Vice cop didn't raise any more objections. He slipped his athletic shorts off and was now fully naked--and, as Toby had seen, in full, magnificent erection. Toby handed him one of the condom packets and the small tube of lube he always carried around with him. Hardesty crowned himself with the Magnum--thinking that maybe someday they'd be able to go dedicated and never need rubbers with each other again--lubed up his cock, reached down with greased fingers to play briefly with Toby's hole to prepare him, and then crouched down, and mounted up.

Toby began to pant and arch his back, as the biggest cock he'd ever taken--and he'd taken a whole lot of them--moved up inside him and began to pump him in long, deep, stretching slides. They didn't kiss; Hardesty wasn't a kisser. But they put their foreheads together and looked deeply into each other's eyes, as Toby hooked his knees on Hardesty's crouching hips and raked his fingernails along the big man's shoulder blades, and they fucked in a long-perfected coordinated rhythm of the dance of the primeval coupling.

This wasn't ravishment. Toby had had enough of that for the afternoon and had to recover from that before he could enjoy it again. But the rough, demanding sex was what he enjoyed the most. Thus, late that night, after he'd had a long sleep, he climbed up on Hardesty's bed in the cop's bedroom. He brought restraints, condoms, a Mr. Ed Horse Penis dildo, a ball gag, and a hand whip with him.

"Do me totally, Daddy. Ravish me. Take me to heaven," he murmured to Hardesty as the big man came awake.

Hardesty, ever ready, complied. Although whip work was involved, Hardesty knew how to do it to maximize pleasure and minimize damage. Toby wouldn't have to go to the clinic afterward. He'd know he'd been fully used, however.

* * * *

Natalie didn't notice the Capitol Cab Company taxi idling outside the Farragut Art Gallery that evening as she entered and the gallery owner Corwin Case letting her in and then closing and locking the door behind her, but Dex, sitting in his cab, saw her.

"Gotcha," he mumbled as he saw the T-girl hand Case a piece of paper--a medical clearance she'd just obtained at a gay man's clinic, and led her to the stairs to the upper level. Dex had been cruising the Dupont Circle area for a couple of nights, hoping to see the T-girl again. He had unfinished business with her. As the T-girl and the gallery owner reached the bottom of the staircase, clearly in view through the front glass wall of the gallery, Dex's dispatch phone rang, and he was called to the Embassy Row Hotel to pick up a fare.

Case took Natalie up to the special gallery with the nude T-girl artwork displayed around the walls. Another man was in the room, a handsome ginger-haired, green-eyed man. He was taking the white linen jacket he'd been wearing off and hooking it on the back of a straight chair with a strategically placed wooden phallus rising from the seat. It was part of the ancient sex-tool furniture that lined the walls of the room. A tape was stretched across the seat of the chair to save anyone from a nasty surprise if they thought the chair was there for them to sit in. It was one of Case's collection of ancient Chinese sex torture apparatuses. It was sturdy enough to still be in use and there were occasions when Case put a trans on it, either her ass or her cunt impaled on the phallus and enjoy sitting and watching her ride the chair.

Case didn't introduce Natalie to the man at that point. He just nodded to the man and said, "She's certified clean, Erick."

The man, dressed now in a tight copper-colored athletic T-shirt showing his muscularity off to perfection and white linen trousers, walked over to where Natalie and Case were standing in front of the ottoman in the center of the room. Case backed off as the man took Natalie into a close embrace, kissed her on the mouth, and then turned her toward the ottoman. He'd gotten instructions from Case on how to use the ottoman for sex, but for now he would just use it as an ottoman.

He pulled the side zipper down to the black satin cocktail dress Natalie was wearing and slipped the garment to the floor. Natalie moved for him as needed; she'd known the dress would be coming off.

He moved slowly, sensually in working with the T-girl's body. Next, he slid her panties down and she stepped out of them. He bent her over the ottoman, unzipped himself, pulled a formidable erection out, moved the head of it to her surgically provided slit, penetrated her as she mewed and panted, held her hips in place between his hands, and fucked her bareback in long, slow, deep slides over the ottoman.

If she was surprised to be taken so quickly, Natalie held it back. She was an experienced professional. There wasn't much she hadn't experienced before.

The man hadn't said a thing to her. Case had engaged her services--for two--from her escort agency and had told her that she was auditioning for someone important for a possible lucrative permanent sugar daddy position, and that had been enough for Natalie. It was a pleasant surprise to find that the john was movie-star handsome and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He certainly knew how to fuck and was hung.

As the man fucked her, Case came around to the other side of the ottoman, unzipped himself, took out his hard cock, and pushed it between Natalie's lips, forcing her to give him head as the other man was fucking her in the cunt. The man was hitting and working the glans at the top of her manufactured vagina, and she exploded into an orgasm. Highly experienced, the man sensed when she was going to climax and he joined her in that. He held her in a close embrace and she shimmered and whimpered, as virile and hung, he tensed and released, tensed and released, flooding her cunt with shot after shot of hot cum, until it was dribbling down her thighs.

When they let Natalie up from the ottoman, they'd both taken off their shirts. Both were presentable--Case particularly so for his age--but the other man was an Apollo. Natalie hoped he wasn't finished fucking her, and she didn't really need to worry about that being the case.

Case handed her a glass of wine--he and the man had one as well--and he introduced the man to her as they circled the room, looking at the art, most of it Griffin Gould nude T-girls.

"This is Erick Royal, owner of the Royal hotel chain," he said, and Natalie was dutifully impressed. She knew of the hotel chain. "He's creating a special island resort hotel featuring T-girls. He's been here for three weeks testing the supply of suitable girls for his resort. He's come here because Georgetown University Hospital here in Washington, and the University of Virginia hospital a two-hour drive to the south, specialize in SRS surgery to transform young men into T-girls. He's been auditioning, concentrating on the specialized escort agency you belong to. If you are interested in possibly becoming a sex worker at his resort, stay. If not, you may leave and you'll still receive the fee we agreed to with your agency--but no tip, of course. If you stay, you will have to be challenged much more to see if you qualify for what Mr. Royal seeks. He will test your endurance more--much more--than he has done thus far."

Natalie didn't leave. She was more interested in whether the ginger stud would fuck her again this evening than in whether or not she wanted a permanent T-girl job on some remote island. She wondered how often Royal would be visiting that island and covering his T-girls. She continued circling the room as the two men discussed the artwork. She got the impression that Royal wanted to buy some of it for his new resort.

"This one is of you," Royal suddenly said as he stopped in front of one drawing.

"Yes, it is," Natalie acknowledged.

"Lovely. The surgeons did an excellent job. You've made me go hard again."

Natalie took that as a compliment. While Royal was moving his fingers over the body in the drawing without touching the artwork and telling Natalie what aroused him so much about some of the features she'd been given and Natalie blushed in appreciation of his assessment, which was as good as the surgeon's had been in explaining what he could do to enhance her, Case was over at the ottoman, removing the top and revealing the carvings created to aid sexual enjoyment. Natalie realized that the ottoman was yet another ancient Chinese sex torture apparatus.

Natalie hadn't left when given the opportunity. Royal walked her over to the ottoman, and case strapped her onto it, in a kneeling position, wrists restrained at the sides, head restrained at the top end, knees set into the wells provided, tail raised. Royal stripped off his trousers and briefs, mounted her on top, with his feet in the stirrups provided at the side, penetrated her ass channel, and rode her high, like a jockey, to his second ejaculation. This time he did so with more vigor than before and had her writhing and moaning under him. Meanwhile, Case crouched behind her, a graduated flared mushroom cap dildo in hand, and fucked her cunt with the dildo while Royal rode her ass.

Pulling her off the ottoman device, Royal carried a collapsed and burbling Natalie over to the ancient wooden side board that had the two greased-up phallic protuberances in the middle of the side edges on either side. Not liking the look of this piece of torture equipment, she turned away from it, but now Royal was becoming more assertive. He slapped her around a bit, telling her, "Behave, bitch," and, surprised at the turn of his mood, she surrendered.

He lifted and lowered her onto the top of the credenza at one side, facing him, sliding the greased phallic protuberance up into her cunt. Her legs draped down the side, finding that curves carved into the side of the credenza fit to her thighs. Grabbing her waist between his hands, and leaning over her, taking the nipples of her surgically augmented breast into his mouth and sucking on them hard, he raised and lowered her on the wooden phallus, fucking her on it. The cap of the wooden phallus pounded against the glans at the top of her vagina, and with a cry she climaxed. Once more he held her in hard embrace, his hips jerking, as yet again he filled her to overflowing with his cum as he joined her, the two rocking together, in an ejaculation.

After a few minutes, he reversed her, belly down on the top of the credenza, her cunt still sheathing the wooden phallus. While he was doing this, Case restrained her wrists together and stretched her body out on top of the ancient sideboard so that her wrists were pulled over the phallic outcropping on the other side and held in place. Royal came up on the top of the credenza on his knees, mounted on top of Natalie's hips. Leaning over her and penetrating her ass again, deep, with his thick, long cock, he rode her, thrusting hard and fast now, moving her body so that the wooden phallus would fuck her in the cunt simultaneously.