The original idea for this story was a reworking from another perspective of a theme in a scene of the story 'Santa's Helper' by satinlvr_mwf and continued by EZ4BLKcock. Satinlvr_mwf has given me permission to continue this work and I very much thank her for this. EZ4BLKcock sadly left the site 6 years ago and cannot be contacted. These are both leading Literotica writers in this genre and very much recommended. 'Santa's Helper' is a good example of both of their work. Also very highly recommended though beware of non-consensual themes in the earlier chapters if they are a problem for you
Julius Moore was out by the derelict store when she arrived. He was standing with two other men. All three carefully watched her park and get out of her vehicle. One of the men blew a plume of smoke from his cigarette into the early-evening air. Claire felt all of their eyes on her but once out of her vehicle kept her eyes on Julius. He was the man she had come to see, the man who had the answers she was seeking.
Julius pointed. "Jean is waiting upstairs - I'll be back there later." He turned back to his two friends. Claire wasn't sure what to do. She had expected him to greet her, perhaps even to express surprise that she had come. Instead he took it as a matter of course, as if he had never doubted that she would be there. She suddenly realised the truth. He had read her correctly - he HAD known that she would be there. She turned and headed for the door of the now familiarly ugly building.
Behind her, unseen, Julius held up one hand. Even as Claire reached the building's door she heard the buzz of its door being released. She stepped inside - aware of the men's eyes on her - and started up the stairs.
As she moved into the building and up the concrete stairs she heard noises from behind the closed doors. Televisions, videogames, music, shouted conversations. None of that surprised her or caused the anxiety she felt as she went on. The doors were closed but she seemed to sense eyes on her. Watching her through the security peep-holes. The eyes of men and women who knew why white women came here. Who would have no doubt why SHE was here. Just another cracka slut come to be fucked by 'the Closer', which was what they called the building's owner, Julius Moore. They would assume she was just another of the Closer's white whores.
Claire realised that she had been holding her breath and carefully tried to let it out. The breath came ragged from her throat, seemed to echo off the walls. Her mouth was dry and she felt her heart beating fast in her chest. As she reached the third floor she anxiously looked to the familiar door of the woman they called Desiree. An African-American woman in her sixties who had twice called her out right here as one of the Closer's sluts.
This time that door was shut and she remembered that she hadn't had to ask to be buzzed in. Claire paused again and tried to get a hold of herself. This was the purest foolishness. She wasn't some love-sick teenager or naive girl and she was hardly going to fall for anything Mr Julius Moore was laying down. Sure the man was impressive and charismatic but he was also unashamedly dangerous. She had a vision in her mind, crystal-clear. Julius Moore sat on that beaten-up old sofa in the room on the top floor. Nine inches of thick, hard, jet-black cock stood up against the swell of his belly. Jean Butler, the woman she had been searching for, mounting him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her pale hand unable to reach around his thick shaft but able to position it ready to drop her pussy down onto it. The woman's low grunt of pure satisfaction as his Big Black Cock had entered her, had claimed her. The look on Jean's face. A look that Claire could not understand.
That was why she was here. She wasn't here because she was another dumb white slut unable to resist the lure of Black cock. She was here because she needed to understand and there was only one person and one place in the whole wide world that could help her understand.
Julius Moore had told her to come here today, he had also told her that it was a rule that only his sluts came here. Well, Claire Doyle was no rookie. She had been undercover before. She knew how that particularly dangerous game was played. Julius was no fool and she would have to be careful. It reassured her a little to know that he was still talking to his friends outside. She needed time to talk to Jean Butler on her own.
Claire moved on towards the next flight of stairs and thought she heard female laughter from behind one of the doors. She didn't turn round but she thought she recognised the laugh and knew what door it was coming from. At least one person had seen her and assumed she was the Closer's latest white conquest. Julius Moore's new beck-and-call girl.
Even as the thoughts crystallised in her mind Claire felt her pulse quicken, the little burst of warmth reaching into every part of her mind, soul and psyche. The excitement. It was powerful, potent in its intensity. Again she visualised Julius and that mocking confident smile of his. She knew it hid something and she had to know what it was. She would do what it took to find out.
The last few steps and along the short corridor to that last room at the top of the building. It was open and Jean was there, waiting for her.
"You came then - I figured you couldn't stay away." There was a hint of triumph in Jean's voice as the woman watched her approach.
Claire tried to be as business-like as possible. "You know why I am here Mrs Butler. I am a Police Office investigating your disappearance from home. I need to understand what is going on here. I am not satisfied and we need to talk. You know that." She was pleased to hear her voice had its usual 'official' tone despite the dryness of her throat.
Jean's response had been a mocking smile, almost a laugh at the words, 'I am not satisfied.' "I know why you are here," was all she said as she moved aside to allow Claire to enter.
Those upper rooms had no surprises for her. The battered old couch, the little kitchen, the room dominated by that big bed. All slightly neglected and shabby. Not a place where people lived - just a place where Julius Moore met his women.
"Me and my man talked about this," added Jean as she followed Claire inside, "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Once I'm sure of a few things."
Claire felt a spike of frustration at the last words. However, she was careful to hide it. "Like what?" Her tone was careful, neutral, reasonable.
"First," said Jean, "I heard all your BS. I'm not sure even you believe it. Last time you was here my man made it pretty clear what he expects from you. Remember Rule 2 - only my man's bitches are welcome here. Yet here you are?" She had a knowing controlling smile on her face. She looked very different to those pictures Claire had seen of her at the Milvern County PD. Jean Butler was no longer the woman that had walked out on her husband. Her new life had made her a new woman.
Claire had sensed a potential opening however. "Tell me about the rules Jean?" She tried to stay professional in tone, to ignore her body's reaction to the insinuation made by the other woman. She felt Jean's eyes fixed on her, closely examining her.
Jean moved forward and ran her hands up and down Claire's body. An extremely amateur and unskilled frisk. "Before I speak I need to know you aren't wired. That this isn't being recorded."
Claire's eyes instinctively went to the corner of the room where wall met ceiling. Where she had seen the camera last time. Now there was no red indicator light there.
Jean had seen her look. "I turned them off," she said, "but my man warned me not to trust the five-oh and I can't be sure yet. I guess if you want me to talk you'll have to get out of them clothes. Prove you ain't wearing a wire."
That surprised Claire. "You can't expect..."
"Then fuck off," the rage flared up in Jean's eyes. "Stop wasting our fucking time. Just like Rule One says. You remember Rule One?"
"When he says get gone his bitches get gone," the words came automatically to Claire.
