Jackal City. By day, a hazy, scorching hot, crumbling concrete jungle. By night, a rainy den of sin.
What happens in Jackal City doesn't just stay here, it develops a chemical dependency, moves into a cheap apartment and tries to blot out the memory that it even happened.
Those unlucky enough to be born here are either smart or lucky enough to leave, malicious enough to thrive, or unlucky enough to be swallowed by the place, often getting caught up in Jackal City's drug of choice; rapture.
Which one am I? I'd rather not think about it. My grip on reality is tenuous enough.
I make my money as a private detective, and in a city where police are simply another gang to avoid at all costs, business is good.
I sat in my office, absently gazing at a file with a glass of bourbon. Some rich guy, Mr Benton with a gold-digging wife wanting me to see if she was having an affair. The photos I had in the lab getting developed right now would confirm his suspicions.
A knock at my door sounded.
Inviting in the knocker, I was astonished to see Mrs Benton.
"Can I h..." I began but she interrupted, holding up her husband's checkbook, one of the more recent stubs with "Jack Paige Detective" scrawled on it.
For the money he was worth, the guy wasn't overly smart. He had made his money pushing pencils for a bank. He was a naive numbers guy, getting paid just enough for his role, not the insane numbers other, more malevolent predators would earn in the same role. His wife was likely painfully aware that the up-and-coming finance guy she had married was in fact utterly devoid of momentum and was some powerful guy's tame accountant. I had seen the story over and over; whoever was keeping him around was waiting for the day the law would come for him and pin everything on him before running off to the caribbean to see out the rest of his days on pineapple, rum and exotic hookers
I nodded in acknowledgement. "He suspected one of his employees was embezzling. He wasn't. I got paid." I bluffed.
She fixed me with a hard, suspicious stare. I had only observed her from afar before, taking photos of her with other men as they made their way into a motel suite. Up close I could see a beauty. A cold, calculating beauty that had realized as she neared thirty, her chances of landing a man she deemed worthy of her dwindled.
Long, blonde hair in perfect salon waves, a coat worth more than the entire building my shitty apartment occupied, with heels worth twice that again. I hadn't seen the dress underneath it yet, but I bet the guy was still paying for it. I knew his salary wasn't paying for her taste. His credit was.
She casually came and sat in the chair opposite my desk, grimacing with discomfort as she crossed her legs.
"Embezzling?" she asked.
"Don't you have a husband that could explain this to you?" I dismissed.
She fixed me with a stare, like she considered me a mere peasant yet I had still rebuffed her, ignoring her wealth and beauty.
"Nothing to do with him suspecting me of meeting another man then?" she asked matter-of-factly.
"Ma'am, if you don't have any work for me, then you're wasting my time."
As if ignoring me, she opened her fur coat and let it fall around the chair she reclined in. I was wrong. There was no dress underneath.
Instead, was a set of deep red lingerie; smooth stockings clinging to her thick, soft thighs, frilled panties, and perfectly-fitted bustier holding up a pair of huge, full breasts.
My cool suddenly became a lot harder to keep as my dick rose in my slacks.
She simply sat as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"I used to walk the streets out there." she said, gazing through my venetian blinds at the hazy orange sunlight outside. "Absolutely dependent on rapture. My husband promised to save me from that life. That he would let me have all the rapture I could possibly inhale and obey his every whim in return for a life of otherwise comfort and luxury. My husband isn't against me seeing other men. As long as he gets to watch. He is utterly incapable of even an erection unless he is watching me with two or more men. As enjoyable as it used to be to get utterly wasted on rapture and let myself be used as a sex toy by anonymous men for my husband's pleasure, I want a life now. Fall in love and have actual intimacy." she explained.
"Your husband paid me. Tomorrow he is coming to settle his account and get his answers. Whether your insane story is true or not is irrelevant. I'm not a cop, I do the job I get paid to do." I said.
She produced a bundle of banknotes and tossed it onto my desk, at a glance equal to the amount written in her husband's checkbook. Tied to it, was a black mask.
"Arrive at our house tonight at 9pm. Three other men are arriving. You will be the fourth. I know my husband hasn't seen your face, you only talked on the phone. Wear that and you'll see with your own eyes what our relationship is. He is using my adultery to divorce me and brand me a whore to leave me penniless. I want you to see what I have to endure and why I need to escape. To testify that he is trying to ruin me. That he married me to torment me for years before he could cast me aside like a wad of gum, chewed and worthless."
I picked up the bundle of notes and the mask.
"If you're telling the truth, you know what I'll be expected to do to maintain my cover?"
"Want to fuck me now, to make it less weird later?" she asked, unnervingly naturally.
I was too dumbfounded to answer, so she stood, slipping her panties down over her long legs exposing a perfectly shaved pussy, stepping out of them and expertly flicking her foot to toss her panties onto her chair. She strolled over to me and unzipped my slacks. She fished out my raging cock and lowered herself onto it, standing astride my chair.
