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We stroll 59th Street. I can feel the slime of the most recent coupling trickle down my inner thighs. I trust many Benjamin’s were offered for this latest anal penetration. A flashy coop apartment on 55th Street. Sizable. Worth millions. I was taken doggie style kneeling, gruff hand forcibly pressing my forehead into a thick shaggy carpet. The man became intrigued with my chiming baubles, thrusting away and having fun getting everything, earrings included, to ring in unison. Sergeant Kelly sat in the kitchen, drinking wine and casually conversing with the man’s maid... apparently regularly complicit in her employer’s escapades.
The task completed with a manly grunt, the maid entered with a warm wet towel as my assailant donned a silk robe. I was denied any offering to cleanse, a smirking Sergeant Kelly following with my tube top and bottom.
‘I like the heels thing,’ the man complimented, ‘adds some curious panache to the deed,’ sitting on a barstool as he lit a cigarette, the kneeling maid dutifully dabbing the pubes area offered by his open robe.
Spoken as I struggled to my feet, the deep shag denying stability to pencil point stiletto pumps, my unsteadiness bringing more rin
ging from earrings and penis clasp. His smile broadened.
We walk and I am heartened by the darkness. Though the chimes of my penis clasp, dangling between my thighs well below the hem of my tube bottom, draw curious looks, few will see the crusting semen in the dwindling light.
Strolling west toward my apartment, Sergeant Kelly holds my hand. Over her shoulder is a pocket book, hopefully stuffed with cash, my sodomizer quite satiated and pleased with my performance. I trust he paid well.
We cross Fifth Avenue, the Park to our right, the street name transforming to Central Park South. Sergeant Kelly’s rote warning comes to mind... from the 65th Street bypass down to Park Central South, you’re in my territory. So pass through with care... and keep your hands... and everything else clean.”
So I will traverse her territory quite unclean, I ironically think to myself.
Suddenly a black limousine pulls up beside us... tires screeching. Two swarthy men of size exit with speed. Sergeant Kelly releases my hand as they rapidly approach.
“Run, Renee, into the park... the bushes... you know where to hide. Run.”
I do, her voice uncharacteristically urgent... stressed... bringing alarm and the instinct to take flight.
My heels clip clop... and my baubles chime with resound... I somehow clamor over the low stone wall which delineates the park. The street lighting quickly fades. I duck into a thicket and look back... in shame. The men grab Sergeant Kelly... and as a man I should be protecting her. Yet I am not a man... and protect her with what? I have not the muscle structure of a timid church mouse.
With my pusillanimousness, I feel rage... yet my reaction is to cry. I curse the hormones.
Not a robbery, the men take her... and her purse... to the limousine. She does not appear to overly resist.
***
New York, New York
Sergeant Kelly Rogers
“A little over dramatic, Escobar. You could just call me.”
I sit in the back of the limousine facing the world’s most wanted drug czar; a muscled henchman sits to my right another to my left. Next to Escobar is an older man, less physically imposing, of some degree of authority.
“I have an aversion to phones,” his accented voice hissing.
“That’s understandable,” I keep my voice calm as the limousine pulls from the curb, the pace much more leisurely.
Though I am Vice, I am certainly aware of the criminal exploits of Pablo Escobar... as is most of the world.
“I send you money, I send a photo, send a description. I think I have the right person to help me... she who regularly patrols New York’s most noted park. That’s what the information suggests. And indeed it seems I have the right person... initially... finding the girl in question. Even a photo comes back to confirm... and then nothing.
“Should I have concerns, Sergeant Rogers? $50,000 is not a lot of money to a man of my means, but it is very bad for business to be swindled. Yet, if you were a swindler you’d be after the $100,000 I promised upon having the girl surrender to me.
“So you have suddenly found scruples... is that the problem? I assure you the girl is no good. Appearing young, she’s nothing but a hooker... and of considerably more age than she appears. Yet I will take care of her... I assure you.”
Escobar foments and though he offers little I do not already know, I let him talk.
The $50,000 advance is nothing. I have earned more than double that in the two months since putting Renee on the streets... into her spandex tubes and teaching her the real money to be earned in prostitution. Tonight alone... $5,000... from a successful television producer who I am quite certain will become a regular. Perverts run that way... like a foodie finding a delectable dish. They eat to excess until they vomit.
What am I missing... why does Escobar have such strong interest in the transsexual Robert... Renee... Warren?
In consistently referencing Renee as female, he either does not know of the birth gender of Robert Warren... or he chooses to continue the subterfuge. Yet there is no point in continuing it with me. The text I sent made it clear... referencing Renee as ‘your boy’.
