As usual, let the reader be warned that there will be some violence.
Also, some readers might want to know that all the really sexy parts are in the first half of this chapter; once the cops arrive, it's just plot the rest of the way.
This is the last of the "Raoul's First Murders" stories. They will continue (soon) with the "Raoul's Road Trip" series. But his story begins with the "Raoul's 18th birthday" stories, so if you haven't read them I hope you'll give them a go.
None of the characters in this story are based on anyone real — except of course to the extent that your humble author resembles Raoul... lololzzzzzz
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The following Tuesday afternoon — right on schedule — Raoul is called out of class to take a phone call in the school's office.
"Someone's very upset," the school secretary mouths, covering the phone's receiver with her palm while "unintentionally" brushing her wrist over her blouse, pulling it open to reveal just a little more of her large freckled cleavage. "Do you have any idea?"
Raoul shakes his head and reaches for the phone.
"Hello?"
"Raoul," Shirley weeps into the phone. "Something terrible has happened."
"What? Are you okay?" Raoul pretends not to know what she's talking about.
"My husband," she bawls, "he's ... he's...."
"Did he hit you again? You shouldn't put up with that, Shirley."
She doesn't answer, so he listens to her cry for a while.
"I'm sorry," she finally says. "I can barely say it."
"What? Just tell me."
"He's dead!"
"Who is?"
"My husband!"
"Are you sure?"
"I just got off the phone with the police. They said the maid found him this morning. He hung himself from the banister."
"Oh my god, Shirley, that's awful. Where are you?"
"I'm still at my mom's."
"Are you okay?"
"I need to see you, Raoul. I need to see you tonight."
"What about Scarlett?"
"We don't have to worry about her anymore," Shirley says. "You know where to meet me?"
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The staff at the Chateau Marmont now know him by sight, so as soon as he appears in the lobby, someone rushes over to greet him with a key, telling him what room "the lady" is in.
Then, when he steps inside her room, she leaps to embrace him, weeping into his stomach. He holds her blonde head as sobs shake her body. He feels the softness of her skin and her silk camisole. Though she is at that moment a multi-millionaire heiress, she is also a tender, fragile, vulnerable woman.
Holding her, however, he also feels a savage, manly pride filling the muscles of his arms and hands. He has killed a man in cold blood, taking his wife and daughter and no doubt much of his money for himself.
He remembers the murder with satisfaction. He'd worn his riding gloves to minimize fingerprints. When he'd come back into the study, Mr. X was sitting on a sofa, weeping.
"What do you want?"
"I forget to give you your money back."
Mr. X just sat there, confused, as Raoul sat next to him on the sofa. The old man just held still, apparently not understanding anything, as Raoul placed one leg over his so that he wouldn't be able to kick, and then held his body with one arm.
He put one arm around Mr. X's body. The old man fought back only to find Raoul holding both of his wrists with one hand.
"What the hell? What the hell are you doing?"
Then, with his other arm, Raoul pulled the noose out of his jacket.
"Hey! What the fuck!?"
Raoul dropped the noose over Mr. X's head. Mr. X held his chin against his chest to try to prevent the rope from getting around his neck, but even with both arms fighting against one of Raoul's, the old man could not prevent Raoul from pulling his forehead back to get the rope around the neck.
After that, drunk and obviously overpowered, with the rope permanently around his neck, Mr. X had accepted his fate without much struggle, really only squirming a little. He looked at Raoul and his death with impotent horror and hatred.
"Your wife and daughter are going to have my babies," Raoul had told him as his face purpled. "Your little pecker's never going to bother Shirley again, but she's gonna spread her legs and fuck my huge cock lots of times. She'll beg me to fill her cunt with my cum, and I'm gonna do it for her over and over.
"Your darling daughter loves it when I cum on her face," Raoul told the dying man, who had completely surrendered, his angry eyes pouring forth tears. "She loves to lick off my cock after I've fucked her. She licks it off and smiles up at me with gratitude. I'm gonna fuck both of them tonight, tomorrow, before and after your funeral, and a lot of times after that. They're gonna have my babies and before long they'll have almost entirely forgotten you, and when they think of you they'll be glad you're dead."
He went on until the old man's body went limp. Even then he sat there, holding him, pulling the rope tight to continue choking him until he was sure Mr. X was gone.
Probably was a little much, but for Raoul at that point it wasn't about right or wrong or what Mr. X deserved — it was about his own sense of power.
How different, he noticed, these thoughts were from those he'd had only a day earlier, killing Todd and his brothers. He counted the men he'd killed, accidentally and intentionally, reaching ten. Mr. X was the tenth. Apparently ten is the point when it starts to become routine, when a man — or at least a man like Raoul — starts to get used to the idea of taking human life, starts to enjoy it and do it with confidence and joy.
He looked at the wealth around him. The dark wood, the antique books, the frosted windows, the carpets and chandeliers. It would be sold, probably, and the money would go to Shirley. She would lavish it on Raoul, and he had earned every cent of it, choking the life out of her pathetic, broken husband.
He carried the lifeless body up the stairs, tied the other end of the rope around the banister railing, consciously making the knot amateurish since Mr. X would not have known much about that kind of thing, and would not have been in a condition to do it well. Then he dropped the body over, and as the rope snapped taught, Mr. X's neck gave a satisfyingly loud "pop."
He'd taken out the envelope of money and scattered it around the hall beneath Mr. X's slowly swinging, slowly spinning body, keeping only a few thousand of it for himself and his girls.
Then he calmly walked away, understanding that he'd probably never be in that house again, reflecting on how his actions would change everyone's lives for the better.
Especially and most importantly his own.
So now here he is to begin collecting his dividends. Never again will he worry who knows what he and Shirley do together.
Perhaps preferring the darkness, Shirley has left the lights off in her room. Quiet swirls of golden dust dance in the bars of twilight streaming through the blinds. The dying embers of a cigarette glow in an ashtray, and next to the tray lie a mirror and a razor blade — not that he's surprised, but that is an aspect of Shirley's life he hadn't known about before.
"Raoul," Shirley eventually sobs again. He notices her sniffles. "Thank you for coming. I needed to see you."
"My pleasure," he tells her. "I needed to fuck you."
"Yes," she almost barks at him, looking up at him desperately through bloodshot eyes. "Fuck me. Call me a slut and a whore and fuck my brains out."
She sounds eager for a little degradation. A treatment for guilt, perhaps.
But what he feels is ownership. He's here to seize his new property, not to make anyone feel better about anything.
He takes her chin between two fingers. "First you're going to lick my balls and suck my cock. You got that?"
"Yes," she cries. "I want to suck it, Raoul. I'm your cock-sucking whore."
"I'm going to cum all over your face and watch you lick it off your fingers."
"Oh, god, yes," she shudders. "Raoul, please, anything."
"Then I'm going to eat your pussy until you can't take it anymore."
"Anything you want."
"And finally, I am going to bang the fuck out of you — not once, but lots of times. I am going to bend you in every direction and take you in every way."
"Oh, thank god," she weeps, holding him more tightly. "I need your cock inside me. I need your cum inside me."
"I'm going to pump you full of cum over and over until you have a baby for me."
"Yes, good. I don't care. I'll do anything you want."
"Strip and get on your knees by the bed," he orders, releasing her. Then he walks over to the mirror and razor and throws them in the garbage.
He doesn't know the risks involved, but he knows some of the possibilities, and the last thing he needs is to be the last person Shirley sees before she ODs.
Shirley looks at him with a little frustration, but, dominating her with his eyes, he points to her place on the floor, and she kneels there, her robe falling from her shoulders to reveal her still-youthful tits.
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