Ultimate Power Ultimately Corrupts - Chapter 5 - The Detective By Silentcrs, silentc123-mail@yahoo.com Give young women power and they may not use it ethically The walls were cold cinderblocks painted gray, dimly lit stone under a simple light fixture that had suffered from years of neglect. The floor was equally cold, dusty cement that had been poured in the 50s and hadn't seen much love beyond the old wooden broom sweeping it every other week. The door was locked and the room was windowless. There were no cameras. In the center stood a short, rickety four-legged table, light brown wood weakened from years of misuse. A large paper cup of water sat on top. He sat at one end in a rusting, pale-green rolling chair, eyes transfixed at the shadow across from him. Despite the cold, he could feel the heat coming from the other end of the table, the warmth that radiated from that massive body in the cool air. "Want to know how I killed the priest?" he heard the young woman purr. Thin overwrought metal squeaked as she repositioned herself in the chair, wheels edging outward to prevent its collapse under the weight. "I started with my legs." He could almost hear the thick columns rubbing against one another as she crossed them, bare tan skin gliding against bare skin. "Want to know something else?" she whispered. He could barely make out her long fingers as she tugged on her blonde hair gently, twirling the tips nonchalantly. "I think you want to be here," she breathed. For months he had been following the murders. At least twenty-three suspected, eleven more under investigation. In every instance the victim had been male. Bodies mangled, rolled, crushed. Signs of sexual abuse but no signs of forced entry. Detective Jim Rasmond hadn't seen anything like it in over twenty years on the force. Besides being male, there was no pattern to the victims. No one race or ethnicity was targeted. The victims weren't universally affluent or poor. The perps obviously weren't interested in money -- in some cases wallets and valuables had been left untouched. What unsettled him more, though, was the patterns with the criminals themselves. The murders had similar themes: off the beaten path near a girls' high school; alongside a get-together of young girlfriends; near a young woman's clothing store. In every case, the smell of the crime scene perplexed him. A mixture of seminal fluids and blood -- that much was to be expected with rapes and homicides. But there was always a light, airy fragrance as well. Flowery, fruity. The smell of youth. It was with equal parts happenstance and luck that the police got their hands on the digital camera. A young man walking his dog had found it early one morning in the woods near his home. After viewing several pictures on it he hurried to the police. They were aghast at what they saw. Photos of young women -- massive young women -- and their "conquests". Image after image of distorted male bodies, some in the grip of active horror. The girls, some looking to be only in high school, in their own throes of savage ecstasy. Oversized sexual beasts tearing at the weak male flesh around them. The men were impossible to identify. The bodies were too brutalized and in some cases were covered by their captors. The police would need access to the corpses to ID them. The women, on the other hand, were cleverly framed as to avoid headshots in nearly all photos (and the ones that included their faces were pointed more at their victims, the girls somewhat out of focus). It was with considerable "fortune" that they came across one picture of a girl crushing her partner over the trunk of a red sports car. There was just enough of a license plate showing to do a search with motor vehicles. Jim set his guys on it. That night, Rasmond brought the camera home to his nondescript city apartment. He was technically not supposed to bring evidence home but no one in homicide was going to fight him on it. He was their superior. He poured a tall flask of whisky and set the camera down on a messy cocktail table in his darkened living room. For months he had visited the crime scenes, pored over the evidence. They were no closer to solving the cases when this camera had showed up. Evidence right now literally sitting in his lap. He took a quick swig and flipped it on. The light from the display lit up his face, the photographs reflecting in his glasses. A schoolyard, a girls' field hockey field, a high school carwash fundraiser. The men. Flattened body. Mashed corpse. A man's face frozen in a scream. The girls. Blonde. Brunette Redhead. Powerful yet juvenile female bodies. Nude. He shifted his knees anxiously. Sweat dripping down etched muscles onto paler, weaker forms. Statuettes obscuring men with their shapely carved muscle. Faces glowing in rapture, mouths pursed into erotic shapes, fresh hair thrown back. His heart began to palpitate. Clear blue eyes. A tongue licking teenage lips. A devilish smile. He cast the camera down on the table and rushed to his bedroom. A week later they brought in the suspect, a cheerleader at a local highschool. She was apprehended willingly, which perturbed Rasmond. Killers typically did everything in their power to resist arrest, whether it be professing their innocence or running for the hills. The girl did neither. They knocked on the door of her modern suburban home. Her parents were not there. Her huge body stepped out in a form-fitting white t-shirt and dark blue Daisy Dukes. Her chest seemed to pressure the thin white fabric to its limit, deeply tanned skin etched underneath. Cables of potent muscle spread across her wide back, which seemed to spread like wings with every step she took, her blonde hair cascading across it. The front of her t-shirt was stretched taut across her enormous cleavage, nipples poking out menacingly. Powerful arms, barely covered by the fabric, glowed in the warm sun. Rippling abs undulated under the bottom of the shirt, a metallic piercing just visible on her belly button underneath. Cords of braided thigh muscle flexed with every step, her buttocks seemingly jiggling under the Daisy Dukes (even though her glutes were rock hard). Robust, lined calves ended in white ankle socks and cute athletic sneakers. She was much taller than the police, their heads barely coming up to her breasts. She seemed to know exactly why they were here. She calmly walked down to the patrol car and wedged her enormous body into the back seat without saying a word. Rasmond scheduled the interrogation for very late that evening in room 13D. The other deputies were confused. 13D hadn't been used in years and there was a dearth of officers available at that hour. Rasmond chuckled confidently at their concerns -- he "could handle one little girl". As day swept into dusk, he pulled a bottle of whisky from his desk drawer. Light filtered in through the blinds as he drank and thought. Tonight would be interesting. He heard the sounds of much of the department leaving, cars drifting off into the distance. He stood up, a little shakily, and made his way towards 13D at the unused side of the building. When he got there, an officer was standing guard outside the locked room. "That won't be necessary," he said to the young man under his breath. The officer paused. "Just leave us alone and keep the door locked." The officer tentatively followed his instructions, locking Rasmond in. As he heard the door click and footsteps walk away down the corridor, Rasmond's eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room. He could smell the age of it, the dust, the dankness. It reminded him of the first interrogation he had done twenty years ago. He smelled something else, though. Fresh. He walked over to the old green metal chair and pulled it up, the thin metal creaking. He opened a manila folder open on the table, drank a cup of water and read out loud. "March 26. Girls locker room at the high school. Cheerleading coach. Now in coma." "May 4. Motel. College professor. Dead." "July 29. Bathhouse near a beach. College football player. Dead." "September 17. Park near suspect's home. Two men," he raised his eyebrow. "Both dead." "November 14. Catholic church. Priest. Dead. Suspect not verified." He pitched the manila folder down, staring across the table. His eyes were having a hard time getting used to the light. The silence was deafening. The mass in front of him sat motionless. He could barely hear the sounds of her cute little nostrils breathing in and out. "Want to know how I killed the priest?" she finally spoke. He could feel the cement floor somehow groan as she shifted her weight in the chair, crossing her shapely legs as she reached up to tug the tips of her long blonde hair. "I started with my legs." He watched the water in the cup sitting in front of him waver slightly as she moved her mass. "Want to know something else?" She curled her hair into a ponytail. "I think you want to be here." She stood up slowly, the shadow of her bulk neatly eclipsing the ceiling light. Rasmond sat silent. She stepped daintily around the table, reaching down to grasp the cup of water. "It was late morning on a Saturday," she began, drinking a bit. The cup sat motionless on her plush bottom lip as she recalled the day. "I had chosen it specifically. Small town church. Barely any parishioners. It was confession day," she paused. "I had a lot to confess." Rasmond shifted uneasily. "The place was empty, just as I had planned it. The only young priest was in the confessional. I crushed the brass handle on the church's doors as a makeshift lock. They really don't make doors like they used to," her voice wavered off. "I admit I had a hard time fitting myself into the confessional, but I have a hard time fitting into most places. I started confessing my sins." Her eyes started to sparkle. "You should have heard him, detective. First the incredulousness, then the fear, then the shock as I told my past through that perforated wood. But also the heavy breathing, the quiet moans. Most men wouldn't admit it," she spoke gently as some of the water dribbled down from the cup and down onto the white shirt covering her heaving chest, "but that's how they really want to go." "It's always fun to see them fight back," she continued, walking full circle around the detective's chair. "I pretty much turned that confessional into splinters, what with the old wood. He was such a cute thing in his little pastor getup." She leaned her extensive back against a stone wall, drinking more from the cup. "It was so easy to pull him up with that neckband, his legs sprawling. And then I saw it," she smiled a bit at her ingenuity. "The bath they used to baptize babies. Filled with holy water. I carried his little holy body over to that bath. 禅ime to release the sin,' I said. I bent his tiny spine back across that pool as I lowered my huge chest onto his face. He pawed at my arms and breasts as the holy water seeped up into my shirt. It was this one, I think," she tugged at bottom of her t-shirt as she drank more from the cup. Water splashed down onto the white cloth. Rasmond took a deep breath. "The way he struggled," she continued as she licked her lips, "as my wet chest completely covered his skull. The way my blonde hair floated on the top of the holy water above him. The light coming in from the stained glass windows. It was all delicious." She walked to the opposite side of the room, placing the empty cup down on the table as she crossed it. "He had almost drowned when I took him out," she said, "our bodies both soaking wet. I peeled off my clothes and tore off his. In the corner of the church, right as the lunchtime sunlight was coming in, was a marble statue of Jesus on the cross. It was perfect. He started to protest as I carried him over but I quickly silenced him by crushing his mouth with these," she hefted her huge globes up. "When I got to the statue, I spread him eagle with his back against the figure. I wedged his calves around the bottom of the crucifix and pressed his wrists outward along the cross. I wrapped my legs around his torso and stuffed his dick into my pussy. I smacked his head backwards with my chest and squeezed my thighs around the marble. It was just me, him and Jesus." Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. "When it was time, I pressured my inner abductors around that weak pelvis of his and heard it fracture, along with the marble. My arms wrapped around the back of that crucifix and squeezed tight. I could hear stone shatter alongside his cries. It felt awesome to crush that marble," she licked her lips again. "And everything in between." Rasmond shook involuntarily as she walked over to him, shirt still wet. "You've been following us for a long time," she murmured, reaching down to run her finger along his shirt collar. "We know you have. We're not stupid. But you're not even on the cusp of finding us all." She leaned down and whispered into his ear. "There's more you don't know about. There's more of us all the time." She bit his earlobe. "And we're getting bigger all the time." She heard him moan softly. "I admit I've never done a police officer," she said, slinking out of her Daisy Dukes. Her shaved crotch was wrapped in a dark red g-string. She raised her tight white shirt off her body with crossed hands, letting her ponytail fall onto her back. "But there's a first time for everything." She grasped his neck with one hand quickly as the green metal chair spun to the floor with a crash, slamming his back onto the rickety table, feeling it strain as she held him down. Her other hand reached down and grasped the crotch of his pants. With a fierce rip she yanked them free along with his underwear, pleased to see his erection. She took both her hands and clenched the folds of his shirt. Buttons flew into the air as she tore them to the sides. It was as if she was dissecting him on the table. She looked at his crotch in anticipation, pulling his body up off the table and lifting him upside down, wrapping her huge forearms around the back of his shaking butt as she breathed hotly onto his crotch. She teased the head of his penis with a flickering tongue, watching with amusement as it quivered. She took a deep breath and ducked forward, swallowing him completely as her strong tongue wrapped around his shaft. He started to whine loudly against her hard thighs. "Thay'be always got to brotest," she said with a full mouth. She reached one hand down and coarsely stuffed his face upwards into her crotch. She clenched her grooved upper thighs tightly around his frail skull as she squeezed. He felt his ears pop as the pressure increased and his vision grew dark. The young woman sucked harder as she could feel him growing fainter in her strong arms. She brought a hand up to his testicles and squeezed with her fingertips as she stroked in and out with her wet throat. When she felt them start to vibrate, she grasped his testicles full with a forceful palm. She crushed her hand and, with the grace of a professional wrestler, piledrived him downward into the cement floor. His skull cracked loudly against the ground under her crotch. She gnawed at his penis as she shifted her bulk on him, scraping her teeth along its sensitive edges. With a muffled cry she felt him starting to spurt. She sat on the cold floor, continuing to suck out his juices as she felt a warm pool of blood from his head expand under her folded thighs, his shrieks buried under her hard flesh. When he was spent, she laid her back on the cold cement floor and lifted him rightside up over her. She could see the skull fracture she had just caused as well as his wet penis (still erect) hovering over her nether region. One of his eyes was swollen shut as he looked down at the immense body laid below. She snapped her g-string off with a flick, taking his crotch tenderly into hers, slipping his penis into her warm vagina and wrapping her solid legs around his outmatched torso. She pressed his face down into her bountiful chest, nestling his nose in her vast cleavage. She embraced his back with her biceps and forearms, constricting his upper body tightly in their mass. As his arms and legs were immobilized, he looked up through his one remaining good eye at the youthful face of his captor. The blonde locks, the clear blue eyes. He could smell the young skin of the cleavage he was being packed down into. The flower, fruity smell. As her huge breasts wrapped around the edges of ears, he could barely make out the words mouthed on her glossy lips. The young lips she licked so eagerly in the photo. "Goodbye, detective." Her arms and legs compacted inwards, resisted by nothing more than the weak human male between them. As her vagina continued to suck on his penis, he could feel the large rolling mass of her breasts collapse inward, his skull bones cracking in his ears. He felt his ribs bend and snap, pressured by her thick biceps as she brought them closer. Her thighs coiled around her prey, completely enveloping his lower back as she felt his tendons stretch and deform. She slid the back of her calves around his buttocks, forcing his crotch deeper into hers. She felt his tears dripping down against her warm wet chest, his nose crunching against her pecs. She flexed her upper body more, pleasurably feeling his whimpering little lips bawling into her cleavage. His throes were delectable. She brought her lips down to kiss the top of his forehead, to thank him for his suffering, the only part of his body visible in her young, muscular sheath. She continued to milk his genitals with hers as she threw her head back, content in the thought that in seconds they would be the closest they could possibly be. She felt his penis once again throb and knew it was time. She compressed his body into hers, her muscles completely enveloping his diminutive male body head to toe. Her crotch caved in around his, grinding his once proud manhood. She heard the bones crackling, the sinews snapping, the lovely sounds of a man broken only with her teenage muscles. As the exquisite sounds echoed against the cold walls she felt his penis weakly pulse in her overpowering womanhood. A final passionate gift. She gave in to the sensation, bucking an orgasm out of his warped frame as she yelled in ecstasy. Seminal fluids mixed with the blood on the cold, rigid floor. She wrung his condensed body for several more minutes, enchanted by her strength as she flexed around the defeated form. She slowly readjusted to the dim room in the post-coital afterglow. She unhooked herself with a light pop, seeing the disfigured, minute body slide off her tanned skin. Her muscles felt raw with power. She stood up and wiped the blood and juices off her body with his raggedy shirt, dropping it unceremoniously on his prone remains. She wrapped her body back in her tight clothes, fitting seemingly more snuggly due to her exertion. She walked over to the door and broke the lock off with a delicate twist of her wrist. She looked back at the pale corpse of the detective, smiling at her accomplishment. She had more time now. They would all have more time.