Englishman In New York Ch. 03

Gibson Ramey had been worthless. Sutton already knew that she'd probably get nothing from him but she was pissed off that the pimp wouldn't give up Samara's last client for questioning. He showed no real concern for the welfare of the other women who worked for him, just wanted to know where she was killed so that he could keep the girls out of the area for fear of arrest.

As far as he was concerned, Samara was a slate that had been wiped clean, asking only that he be given the money in her wallet. Of course, Sutton had declined, saying that the money would be released to her family, if possible and if no family was to be found, the Police Officer Benevolent Association would receive it. Of course, Gibson wasn't happy. He slammed the door shut after Sutton, muttering under his breath about the 'fucking pigs not needing any more donut money'.

Since it was getting late, she decided to take the file and head home, kicking off her shoes and heading downstairs to her office. A large corkboard took up most of the space in the tiny room and she flicked on the lights, gazing at the board's contents. Snapshots, 8 X 10s and other tidbits littered almost every inch of the surface, all visual representations of young women that had been brutally murdered in her district since she'd become a police officer. Sutton opened the manila folder in her hand and took out the picture of Samara, tacking it up in an empty space.

Her eyes were drawn to a 4 X 8 of a beautiful little girl with blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. Such angelic beauty had been brought down by the same hand that had killed that girl today: an angry man who looked upon her as a sexual tool and not a human being. Harry had been smoking a cigarette, watching the television when Candace had found Christinna's body in her little bed. She would never forget the sight of the blood that streaked the insides of her legs and the pure innocence in her sightless eyes.

Harry Sutton was in jail now, serving two consecutive twenty year terms for Christinna's abuse and subsequent death while Candace served a lifetime sentence in her jail of guilt, her mother's heart filled with the guilt of failure. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, raising one shaking hand to touch the fraying edges of the photo. She would never touch the colored part of the photo; this little photo and a teddy bear were all that remained of her daughter.

Sutton wrenched her hand away and turned her eyes up to Samara. She was someone's daughter. Somewhere, she had had a soft, safe bed to sleep in. Somewhere, she had celebrated Christmases and Easters with people who cared for her. She did not have the hard-bitten look of a prostitute that had never seen care and concern. Somewhere, sometime, she had experienced love.

"Why not now? Who was it that you met and didn't show you love? Who was it that left you to die in your own blood? Tell me, Samara. Tell me who he was."

* * * * *

"I don't want to go, Gibson, and you can't make me!" Tania screamed, turning to walk away. She was exhausted from turning tricks all day, her feet hurt and she did not want to go do this last minute trick that was waiting on the corner for her. The image of Samara's death-dull eyes and her twisted body was too fresh in her mind.

Gibson's vise-like grip on her bicep cut off the blood from her arm and he hissed, his Invisaligned teeth gleaming in the light. "I can make you do anything I want." He crowded her, stepping so close that she trembled, despite the bravado she attempted to put forth. "Do you need to be reminded?"

"No." Tania hated herself when she spat the word out quickly, letting him know that his intimidation was working. "But I want you to go with me."

"I ain't goin' to watch you and some white boy fuck! Now get goin'." He gave her a little shove toward the waiting man. "And get the money first!"

Tania shook her wavy hair out, straightened her dress and walked over to the man, trying to look sexy while not thinking about how badly her feet ached. "Hello."

"Hello." His voice was soft, almost breathy and he shyly looked away. "You're very beautiful."

"Thank you. You like Spanish women?"

"Love them." Again breathy, but with a hint of ...an accent?

"So you want a date?"

"Yeah. I want to fuck your tits."

"Like these, eh?" Tania glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching and gave one of her breasts a sensuous squeeze. "They're real. Want to touch one?"

He tentatively reached out and cupped a globe, hefting its sweet weight, then giving it a squeeze. "Oh, shit."

"Double Ds." Tania proudly supplied. "$300 and they're yours."

"Do you swallow?"

"Add another $200 and I'll drink every little bit you have to give."

"Done."

Giggling, she led him over to a spot behind the dumpster and held her hand out, smiling when he placed five hundred dollar bills in her hand. "Thank you." With that bit of business out of the way, she pulled her top down, letting him rub his face against them before she dropped to her knees, breathlessly waiting to see his prick. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, smacking it against her cheeks before sliding it between her breasts. Tania held her tits together, bending her head down and sucking the head into her mouth at each thrust.

He groaned, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself and pumping faster. It was going to happen soon, he felt it. That familiar tingle. He hissed as his cock erupted, shoving it into her mouth and shoving it as far into her mouth as he could. She choked at first, then swallowed, gripping his hips to keep from gagging a second time. When he finally stopped cumming, she pulled his cock out of her mouth and tugged her shirt back into place.

"See you later."

Tania didn't see his arm loop around her throat but she heard the crunch of her trachea as it gave way to the strength of his muscle and bone. And pretty soon, she didn't hear anything else.