Pete need not have brought up my knowledge of Johnny The Club Wallace. I had that particular fucker ingrained deep inside me.

A couple of years before Pete even transferred to the NYPD from San Francisco - and before I had been assigned to homicide - I'd been working the gangster beat. I'd gotten a bit too close to Wallace's employers in the Mafia, and that's when I'd met Johnny - and his club.

His club of choice at the time was a flexible rubber policeman's billy club. And his M.O. was to tie up his victims in some fleabag hotel or other at the fringes of Manhattan and to torture them for whatever information the Mafia wanted by raping them with the club first and then clubbing them to death with the same billy club. I was probably the first one to find out that he fucked the ones he was attracted to between the two acts with the club - and I only found that out because I probably was the first one who ever survived his assault. He got an erection off doing his victim with the club when he found the victim attractive, and I suppose he didn't think there was any reason not to put a well-worked hole to use while it was there.

I guess you could also say that it was because of me that Wallace had found his way into witness protection and had ended up here, finished off by a much thicker club than he once was prone to use.

I remember the hotel well because of its name. It was the Jefferson Davis in a particularly depressed section of the city, and despite my plight, I found that a bit amusing, because if there ever was a loser of a hotel it had been this one.

The hotel was a gay dive that rented by the hour, which was Wallace's ultimate undoing, because he'd plunked down the money for three nights, which became somewhat of a flag-waving memory jog for the night clerk there when my buddies on the force turned out to scour the city for one of their own.

Wallace had tracked me down in the Club Europa one night when I was crying in my beer over being overworked and having found someone I hoped to settle down with fucking my upstairs neighbor in our bathtub one night. I was out cruising for a quick 'oh woe is me'� fuck that night, and Wallace came on to me. He looked good and promised a rough fuck from how he approached me, which was exactly what I was looking for that night. He somehow slipped me a Mickey in a bar drink, however, and I was well short of sharp when he took me into the Jefferson Davis. A quick fuck was what I was after, so I might have gone with him without the senses deadening, but now we'll never know about that. I certainly had my guard down. I'd been warned a hit had been taken out on me, but, like all young and stupid men, I felt I was invincible.

What brought me out of my stupor was Wallace starting his routine by working the lubed billy club inside my ass. I was naked, with my wrists tied above my head to the brass poles in the headboard, and my T-shirt stuffed in my mouth to keep me quiet while he worked me. He told me exactly who he was, why I was where I was, and what he planned to do with me.

While he worked, Wallace was getting aroused, however. He stripped down, and I saw that he wasn't called The Club just because he carried one that he beat people up with.

Fucking me with the billy club was turning him on, not the least, I suppose, because I could take it. Pete, who first met me as part of the rescue party, would be interested to know that I was even more promiscuous then than I am now, and my ass was open enough in those days to take a Mac truck careening up it.

Soon Wallace was breathing real hard, and his tool was even harder. I was sweating at the strain of taking the billy club inside me, and Wallace bent down over me and was giving me the sniff test and licking me from head to toe. He came up on the bed, kneeling his butt cheeks back on his heels and working his thighs under mine as he spread my legs out and exchanged his billy club for The Club. He grabbed my hips with his hands and pulled me back and forth on a tool that rivaled the billy club in thickness and depths reached.

Playing for time, I acted like I was really enjoying his work inside me - which, in fact, I was. It was just the rough fuck I'd ventured out for that evening, although I wasn't wild about the notion that he planned to finish it off by beating my skull in with that billy club of his.

I must have done well, because he didn't kill me that night - or the next night, either. He kept me there and fucked me whenever he'd gotten up the steam to have another go at me.

And he was still fucking me when my cop buddies kicked in the door and saved my sore ass, not having been ID'd by the hotel's night clerk but having been the 'drunken friend'� part of his unusual story of a prepaid long weekend starting the night I'd disappeared.

Caught in the unfinished business with club showing, Wallace had been quick to turn state's evidence on his employers, and that's what had gotten him into the witness protection program and down here in an Eden that was totally off his regular beat.

This didn't tell me what had gotten him murdered, however. I didn't give a shit for him, and Pete knew that - he'd been pretty straight that he'd used my connection with Wallace to get me down here and back into his own bed. I did, however, find any unsolved murder case absolutely fascinating, and it was something that wore at me until it was straightened out. And I was known to have an intuition about these cases. My intuition about this killing told me that it hadn't been the Mafia that had caught up with Johnny; my intuition was that it more likely was his inability to keep his own club in his pants. Besides, if it was just a belated Mafia hit, that was no fun.

I decided the next move was to track down this prep school youth Wallace was said to have raped. And I knew that the only way I could get to him would be through his father, the local Commonwealth's Attorney. So, as Pete and I were having a sandwich in his kitchen after our nooner in his bed, I asked him how soon we could get into to see the number one lawyer here.

'You have an appointment at two,'� he answered. 'And if that goes well, you can drive to the school later in the afternoon so that you can meet Wallace's victim - his name is Jason. Then we can come back here and - '�

'Let's take that part a bit more slowly, Pete,'� I interrupted. I was fine with Pete fucking me, but not exclusively. If I slept with anyone tonight, it would be with that Redskins' fullback, Jentel. If, of course, he was hooked enough to want another go at me this soon. His dick wasn't any bigger than Pete's, but it was jet black and more vigorous than Pete's - and it fascinated me.

'A guy's gotta have his sleep, Pete. I'm going to be bushed, and it would be good to start off tomorrow fresh and giving this all of my brainpower.'�

Pete never had known when I was lying to him; it had taken him forever to discover that I was two-timing him with Dan.



[email protected]


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus