"In Oriental myth, the Foxwoman is an evil spirit of torment and strife. It took the form of a beautiful woman and seduced men to their ruin. Luckily, we no longer believe in evil spirits."
***
The blue ornate kimono she had been wearing had long since ended up on the floor. Her golden naked body was now clothed in a fine layer of sweat, from her and from him. He had his hands on her firm breasts and the nipples under his palms were stiff with excitement.
She rode him up and down slowly, her body quivering with tiny erotic ripples as her warm tight pussy clenched around his hard cock. The pleasure he felt was incredible. She did things no woman had ever done to him then did them again. She stopped her motion and just sat there with his thick cock buried in her deep. The muscles of her pussy squeezed his hard cock in rhythmic waves as she smiled down at him. Her dark red lips glistened in the candlelight.
He groaned and squirted another orgasm into her.
A candle went out.
His semen made her pussy even wetter than it was. How many times he had cum either on her or in her he could not remember. Each time he thought he was done, she would whisper in his ear and his flagging cock would stiffen yet again.
She leaned down and kissed him, holding his ears in her hand. Her eyes bore into his own as she ground her crotch against his re-stiffening cock. His mouth was dry and she let a little stream of saliva drip off of her tongue onto his lips. He tasted the sweetness of cherry blossoms and another taste too.
One more powerful: The taste of raw lust.
Sliding off of his now hard cock, she nibbled her way down his naked chest. She paused and sucked each nipple, giving them a sharp bite. He gasped and gave a little whimper. She seemed to enjoy the pain she caused him. He had never wanted a woman to dominate him like he wanted her to.
The room had been lit by dozens of candles at the start but now all but one was dark. The last flickering light painted shadows of their coupled naked bodies on the walls.
Kissing her way downward, her long agile tongue left trails of wetness across his stomach. She slid it briefly into his belly button leaving a bit of spit in the hollow. Then she sucked the moisture back into her mouth.
His cock was rock hard, red, stiff, and standing straight up from his crotch. Her small fingers took it and squeezed. He felt her warm breath on the head then her tongue slid up its length collecting the remains of his orgasm and her own juices. He groaned once more as he felt those lips envelop the tip of his cock. Her mouth was almost molten with warmth.
And oh so wet.
Each time he had sunk his cock into her tight pussy he had groaned with pleasure. Each time he had pushed his cock into her tighter ass he had groaned even louder. Yet neither hole could compare to the sensations he felt when she took him in her mouth. It was a thing alive and she acted as if she was sucking his very soul from him when she had her lips around his cock.
One hand was stroking the part of his cock not in her mouth. The other hand was fondling his balls. Both were slick with their juices. With one finger she teased his asshole, pushing against it. When she pressed her head all the way down and took his entire cock into her mouth, she pushed that finger into him.
He groaned yet again. His cock was deep in her throat with her nose buried in the hairs of his crotch. She gagged and the muscles inside her throat clenched around him tightly. His hands went to her head and grasped her by the hair. He clenched his fingers and tried to pull her even further down onto his cock.
With a moan of her own, she let him abuse her.
He felt her long tongue come out of her mouth and past his cock to wrap itself around his balls. It squeezed them in time to the thrust of her finger up his ass. His breath came in heavy gasps as he felt his orgasm erupt shooting his cum into her.
Pleasure enveloped his brain in darkness as the last candle went out.
And in that darkness, he found reason to scream!
***
The glass of whiskey was the last one in the bottle so George Saberson sipped it slowly. Even worst he was down to his last cigarette as well.
The evening's rain tapped gently at the windows gave his small two-room apartment a comfortable feeling not shared by its owner. Thirty-three but he felt twice that after all the day's problems. He sipped again from the glass and tried to relax. It was late, well past midnight. He should get some sleep but didn't even have the energy to get out of the chair. Let alone make his way to bed.
He sighed and took another sip. Then his cell phone rang.
For just a moment he considered ignoring it but ten years of answering late-night calls forced him to pick it up.
"Yes," he asked. "What is it?"
"Detective Saberson, there's been another killing."
***
The rain had tapered off to minor drizzle in the forty minutes it took Saberson to get to the crime scene. The forecast said it would turn to light snow before morning.
The address was nothing special, a five-story brownstone on the south side of downtown, except tonight it held a body. A small crowd of the curious braving the weather gathered at the police line. Saberson identified himself and was let through. Waiting on the steps was his partner Jeff Monroe.
Monroe had been his partner since Saberson had joined Homicide five years ago. The older cop, sixty-three and two years from retirement was a good friend and a valuable teacher. Monroe led him inside and up the stairs.
"Who is it?" Saberson asked.
"Morris Goldsmith. He worked down in the Department's Property room." Monroe said pausing on the third-floor landing. "Neighbors heard the screams and called it in."
Saberson stepped up beside Monroe. He noticed Monroe's dark face looked a little pale.
"The doctor says climbing stairs is good for me. I think he's full of shit." Monroe said breathing hard. "You go on up, I'll be there as soon as I catch my breath. Fourth floor, Apartment C."
He nodded. Saberson had seen this in his partner before. Monroe would be all right after a few minutes of rest.
He had to show his badge again on the fourth floor. Apartment C was a beehive of activity. The body waited in the bedroom, covered in a sheet. He walked over and gently pulled it back.
Goldsmith's face was a mask of frozen horror. Eyes closed, his neck muscles were tensed like corded rope. His mouth was locked open still trying to scream it seemed. Blood covered the belly and legs with a crimson splatter. Beneath the body the mattress was soaked in blood. The cause of death was readily apparent. Where Goldsmith's crotch had been there was now a ragged hole.
Saberson took several minutes to study the surroundings.
"If this keeps up," Monroe's voice said behind him. "I'm going to retire early."
His partner stood in the bedroom door looking better. Beside Monroe was the coroner Parker. Saberson letting the sheet drop knew what his partner meant. It was maddening for them both because they had no clues to go on. Goldsmith's death made five men killed in the past nine days. Three of them were police officers. All the men were found nude and with the same ghastly wounds. The heat from higher-ups was on them to break this case and break it now.
"You done Detective?" Parker asked. "Stone and I would like to get rolling."
Saberson nodded.
The coroner and his assistant Stone wheeled in a stretcher. Saberson and Monroe got out of their way. Parker flipped the sheet off the corpse as Stone readied a body bag. They pulled the body to the edge of the bed and in the process knocked the pillow off. It hit the floor with a loud thunk. Parker and Stone instantly stopped what they were doing and exchanged startled looks.
Motioning the two to one side, Saberson knelt beside the pillow and carefully opened the pillowcase. Inside Saberson found a small leather-bound book. Eight inches square and perhaps an inch thick, it had the look of something very old. The others gathered around as Saberson opened it.
"Lordy!" Parker exclaimed. "Look at the dirty pictures."
Each page of the small book contained an ink drawing of a male and female couple in a different act of making love. Saberson slowly flipped through it and stopped at one page. On it, a young Oriental woman of great beauty was kneeling and bent forward. Her lover also Oriental, knelt behind her and between her legs. She supported her position with one arm outstretched. With the other, she guided her lover's member towards the mouth of her sex. He seemed poised to take her in one mighty thrust.
The detail of the pictures was incredible. Definitely pornographic though the drawings were more like fine art than cheap thrills. He noticed that the woman was the same throughout, though the men were different on each page. A strange euphoria came over Saberson. He kept flipping slowly through the book.
"Let me see that," Monroe said reaching for the book. "I think I know what..."
Saberson recoiled, slapping Monroe's hand to the side. His euphoria was replaced by anger.
How dare he, Saberson thought, it's mine!
The look his partner gave him shocked Saberson back to reality.
"Sorry about that," Saberson said handing over the book. "I don't know what came over me."
"Forget it," Monroe shrugged. He waved Parker and Stone back to work. "This damned case has everyone edgy."
Saberson nodded. Monroe opened the book, looking closely at the drawings. Something about that book now made Saberson nervous but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Just as I thought," Monroe said. "I know what this is."
He pointed at something in the drawings Saberson hadn't noticed before. Small Oriental writing in the margins around the figures.
"I was stationed in Japan when I was in the Navy," Monroe explained. "There was this brothel in Kyoto we used to visit. One of the girls had a book like this to illustrate the different positions. She called it a Pillow Book."
"So Goldsmith had some Oriental sex manual?" Saberson said. "Is that worth killing him for?"
"The girl's book was very old. And very valuable," Monroe said. "This one might be too."
They both stood there for a few moments in silence.
"Why don't you go on home," Saberson said finally.
Parker and Stone were wheeling the stretcher with Goldsmith's body on it out of the room. Saberson glanced at his watch. It was nearly four in the morning. "I can finish up here."
"I'll phone some people tomorrow and see what I can find out about this book," Monroe said putting the book into his coat pocket. "Then meet you at the station. Say about 3?"
Saberson nodded.
Monroe followed Parker and Stone out.
Saberson stood there for several more minutes just thinking.
***
For a moment Monroe did not remember where he was.
The crackling of the fire reminded him. He was in the basement family room of his home. While calling some of the local rare book dealers, he must have fallen asleep. The Pillow Book lay next to him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he went to the fireplace. He had started a fire that morning but it had burnt down to embers while he had napped. He added more wood and stirred the coals with a poker to get the fire going again.
The family room was his pride and joy. Since his three children had finished college and moved away, Monroe had spent much of his free time fixing it up.
Next to the stairs, he had built a fireplace. At the opposite end, he had covered the wall with mirrored tile. It gave the illusion of greater space and highlighted the pool table there. The other walls were covered with paneling of dark wood. A couch and short bar completed the décor.
Monroe walked over to the bar and fixed himself a drink. His wife was out of town visiting their daughter so he had the house to himself. He noticed the time was 2:15 in the afternoon.
"Better get my butt in gear," he said to himself. "I told Saberson I would be there by three."
Instead, he walked back to the couch and sat down. He began thumbing slowly through the book again. The fire burned brightly casting red highlights across the pages. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but the figures seemed to come to life.
In one drawing the woman received her lover from behind. Bent forward, her hair hung down in a black curtain swaying as he pumped. In another, they were in a classic missionary position. Red fingernails teased the man's back urging him faster. Monroe found something strangely compelling about the Oriental woman in those erotic drawings. He felt himself grow hard.
One drawing in particular caught his eye. In it the woman knelt, taking her lover in an oral embrace. Her yellow kimono had slipped from her shoulders, baring her breasts. Monroe's head felt light and his throat was dry. He raised his glass, only to find it empty.
A rustle of cloth nearby made him look up. Standing before him was the Oriental woman of the drawings. He smelled cherry blossoms.
"I must still be asleep," he said standing.
His glass fell to the floor.
The beautiful woman stepped closer. She prevented him from further speech by kissing him. Molding her body to his, she wound one hand through his short gray hair. With the other, she guided his hand inside her kimono to caress her silky breast. Monroe groaned as he felt her naked skin and the nipple harden under his palm.
She pulled away and slid sensually down his body. Kneeling at his feet, she deftly undid his trousers. Monroe stood there frozen with his heart hammering in his chest. Pulling his stiffness free, her kimono fell from her shoulders baring her breasts just like in the drawing.
Her small pink tongue came out to wet her deep red lips then holding him with one hand, she slid that tongue up the shaft to the tip.
"Oh my God!" Monroe groaned with pleasure.
***