What the Singer Saw

Cassidy reached down for Dean's calves, pulled them so that the young man collapsed along the sofa cushion. Cassidy came down on top of him, and the two lay there. They would have been cooling down, but Cassidy was biting Dean on the back of his neck and had worked hands under the young man's chest and was pinching and twisting Dean's nipples, to feel him writhing ineffectually, grunting, and sobbing quietly.

The torturing wound down. When they were both breathing regularly, Cassidy pulled the ball gag out of Dean's mouth. The first words Dean uttered were, "God, that did me great. You've got one fuckin' big cock. But how did you know . . .?"

"How did I know you took it hard and with pain?"

"Yes."

"I told you I watched the video. You had one hard erection throughout, and I could see it in your eyes. You were having a great time. It's how you wanted it. And how did I know you wanted it from me?"

"Yes."

"The same look in your eyes when you looked at me in the hospital—and then in the music hall. The erection you wanted me to see. It was as good as flat out telling me you wanted me to punish you."

"Are you going to fuck me again?" And then when Cassidy didn't answer fast enough, "I want you to fuck me again. Punish me."

"You've done something you should be punished for, Dean?"

No answer, so Cassidy continued. "I don't care about any of that. Not my business. I want to know what you saw, what made your expression change to one of surprise and horror right before the video cut off."

"Who's to say I saw anything?"

"You're to say, but I can tell you what you saw."

"You can?"

"Yes. You saw another young man hanging from the ceiling, just as you were and being flogged and tortured. Beaten and fucked to death."

"Fucked to death? What do you mean. The Mexican was killed?"

"He was Puerto Rican. Had a name. Sonny Rodriguez. So they pulled the curtain between the rooms before you could see that he was dead?"

"Yes. But, how did you know?"

"I was there this morning. I recognized the room from your video. Gray-green cinderblock walls and those bright green restraints on you. The same were on the stiff in the other room. You've seen a murder. There's just one thing I need you to do. I want to show you a photo and have you tell me that's the man who was flogging and fucking Sonny Rodriguez in the room beyond the window."

"Just that one thing?"

Cassidy laughed. "I'll fuck you again if you'll look at the photo and tell me the truth. I'm thinking your bed has restraints on the four corners doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. OK, show me the photo."

Cassidy hadn't freed Dean from the handcuffs or taken the belt collar off his throat. He reached down and pulled a photo out of the back pocket of his trousers. Cassidy traveled with an album in the trunk of his car with photos of "all the likely suspects" in his area of the city. It saved a lot of time.

"Yes, that's him. Who is he?"

"That's Ross Strang, a local gang kingpin. You don't want to mess with him, and you don't want him deciding to come looking for you because of what you saw him doing through that window the other day. You want us to put him away for some time."

"OK, I've done what you asked. Now, will you—?"

Cassidy laughed. "You got a one-track mind, don't you?"

"And you got a dick and body to die for," Dean countered.

Better than restraints at the four corners of Dean's bed, Cassidy found hooks in the ceiling over the foot of the bed, as well. He trussed Dean up spread-eagled on the bed, with his arms spread and raised toward the top two corners of the bed, his buttocks on the end of the bed, and his legs raised and spread, tied off from the ceiling hooks.

Cassidy, hunched over Dean's body at the foot of the bed, pushed his left knee under Dean's right butt cheek, arched his torso down toward Dean's, with their foreheads touching. Cassidy wanted to hold the expression in Dean's eyes, watching for every indication the young man was about to come. He gripped the back of Dean's neck with his left hand, holding the young man's head in place, and, with a super-lubricated middle finger of his right hand inserted in Dean's ass, worked the young man's prostate from the inside.

"Let me come, please let me come. Stroke it with your hand," Dean cried out whenever he was coming close to ejaculation. Cassidy would, time and again, hold off in his expert manipulation of Dean's prostate, making the young man's cock burble with teased-out come, but neither bringing him to conclusion by stroking his cock or leaving him with hands free to finish himself.

Cassidy brought Dean to the brink again and again with the prostate work and then backed off, leaving Dean to whine and whimper and beg for relief. The glorious torture went on for some thirty minutes until Cassidy felt that all of the come that was going to ooze out of Dean's cock had done so. Cassidy turned, moved his cock head to Dean's hole, and pressed in.

Dean writhed within the confines of his bindings, arched his back and cried out, "Yes, yes. Nail me. Screw me. Fuck me!"

Cassidy gave him three long, deep strokes, and then pulled out of Dean's ass.

Dean whimpered. "Give it to me. Give it to me hard."

But then Cassidy left the bed and dressed, while Dean whined for the fuck to be completed.

"Oh, you're gonna be royally fucked sometime soon," Cassidy said as, dressed, he released Dean's hands and headed for the door, knowing that he'd be long gone before Dean could free his legs.

Cassidy drove to the Brass Knuckles Club. For that particular entertainment, the night was young.

"Ah, you're back," Phil Davis said when Cassidy walked up to the club's bar. "If you're here to pick up Ross Strang, he's already gone. Don't really want this brought down in the club anyway."

"I didn't come for Strang. I'm strung out. Is the Filipino still available?"

"For you, of course."

"Got a chamber free with stocks in it?"

"For you, yes. But I can fit you in for a slot on stage, if you like."

"Even better."

* * * *

When Cassidy entered the bull pen the next morning, Jack saw him from the other end of the big room and stood up from his desk. Cassidy gave him a smile and a thumbs up, but he stopped at the Major Crimes section and leaned down over Leo's shoulder.

"A little birdie in your ear, Leo," Cassidy said in a low voice.

"Yes? Chirp for me."

"Look for the money in your Dorsey kidnapping case. Look for the Dorsey kid with the money."

Leo gave a low whistle. "You think the kid set his parents up himself? You have reasons for—?"

"Giving you what's on the silver platter, not the platter itself here, Leo. You've got to connect the dots yourself. But I know they're there. Go visit him at the Blue Parrot Club when his band is playing. Look hard at the drummer. He's the guy doing the torture in the video. And take another look at the kid in the video. He's got a 'I'm lovin' this' hard on in the video almost to the end. He didn't just set it up; this is what he likes."

"OK, you're never wrong about these things, but—"

"No buts, Leo. The kicker is that I want him too—as a witness to the murder I'm working. He was there. Look at the video again, where it is. Then go look at the murder scene in my case. You'll see it. Same scene. We can put Ross Strang away for this—for a very, very long time. A double win."

"Sounds great to me. Anything I can do for you, I'll—"

"There is, as a matter of fact. You can investigate for a couple of days before picking the Dorsey kid up. I'm not finished interrogating him for my case yet."

Cassidy was whistling as he strode back toward the Homicide section to give Jack the good news. The test run with the Filipino and the stocks last night went real well. Dean Dorsey was sure to go wild for that treatment too.