Massacre at the M & M Lounge

Detective Bradley had seen plenty of bodies during his twenty year career, but the sight of this one still sickened him. He struggled to think of the still warm and bleeding carcass that was laying in the parking lot behind the M & M Lounge in down town Gresham as just an anonymous, adult, caucasian male. Detective Bradley hadn't needed to check the wallet to know that the man had been forty-six years old.

The M & M Lounge had once been the type of respectable establishment that one would not expect to be the scene of a shooting much less a mass murder. He had made enquiries about the M & M months ago even though it was outside of his jurisdiction for personal rather than professional reasons. Historically; the lounge had tended to feature country western bands which attracted a clientele that was mostly white, lower middle class folk who were at least circumspect about drugs and prostitution. However; the area had gradually changed over the decades as Portland's urban renewal programs pushed poor urban people from their historic neighborhoods around Martin Luther King Boulevard and Killingsworth out to the suburbs.

The M & M Lounge had adapted to the changing demographics of the neighborhood by featuring more eclectic music for its more diverse clientele. Some of the urban cowboys who now frequented the M & M were black men just like many of the real cowboys of the wild west had been. These ebony cowboys frequented the M & M Lounge because they were not at all averse to dancing with women who might be a few years older and a few pounds heavier if the women were white, especially if they were married. The crude jokes implied that the M & M Lounge had become popular with suburban white wives who became afflicted with Jungle Fever as they approached menopause.

The fear of what he might discover inside the lounge compelled Detective Bradley to inspect this carcass more thoroughly. The body was illuminated by the headlights from the descendant's vehicle that was parked nearby with the engine and emergency lights still running. The light made it easy for Bradley to see that the bullet had been perfectly placed by someone who seemed to have known almost as much about guns as most people assume that someone in the shooter's profession should know. Rather than enter through the right temple, the forty caliber bullet had entered the skull through the roof of the mouth, traversing front to back and upward through the brain stem and limbic system before shattering but not exiting the anterior skull. This careful shot placement had eliminated any risk of surviving to live on with a traumatic brain injury.

The weapon was laying on the sidewalk next to the body. Detective Bradley recognized it instantly. It was the exact same model, forty caliber, semiautomatic Glock that he carried. The original, nine millimeter, Glock seventeen had provoked a shit storm of controversy when it was first introduced almost three decades earlier because it's polymer frame was allegedly invisible to metal detectors and X-Ray machines. Detective Bradley had known that this was untrue, but he hadn't spoken out to refute the propaganda. Few of his colleagues had.

Detective Bradley shifted his attention back to the other body on the sidewalk. Bradley hadn't needed to check her purse to know that the woman was forty-seven years old. He was ashamed that he was so relieved when he recognized Charlotte. He had been a guest in Charlotte's home on several occasions to have dinner or watch football with her husband. He had been to their home only a few months earlier to celebrate her most recent birthday. That party had been a ritual of reconciliation. She was one of those women who had managed to remain reasonably attractive as she entered middle age without being delusional about it. It helped that she had a nice rack. One of those big, once beautiful breasts was now devastated by a nasty looking exit wound centered where her right nipple had once been. The remnants of a silicone membrane and gel confirmed his chronic suspicions.

The department brass favored the forty over the smaller caliber but higher velocity nine millimeter not only because it was more effective but because it was less likely to overpenetrate a perp then continue on to kill an innocent bystander. Detective Bradley was certain that the autopsy would confirm that the bullet had managed to miss ribs both as it entered then exited her torso, and had traversed through only lung and breast tissue before exiting her nipple.

A brief inspection of Charlotte's back revealed a total of three entry wounds. One bullet had obviously shattered her spine while another bullet appeared to be properly placed to hit her heart. At least Mrs Grahn hadn't suffered much.

Detective Bradley realized that solving this homicide would be a no brainer. His colleagues in the Gresham police department were no more adept than he was, but even they could figure it out.

He turned his attention back to the perpetrator who was laying beside his first victim. The motive was obviously romantic jealousy. Jeffrey had reluctantly commiserated about his situation over coffee and donuts earlier that afternoon. In spite of their reconciliation, he was convinced that Charlotte had reverted to her philandering habits. Sergeant Grahn didn't have any actual evidence, but he knew that the M & M Lounge had a reputation. Detective Bradley had confessed his own anxieties then argued that there was an innocent explanation for their spouses frequenting the M & M Lounge during her weekly Wives Night Out. He had argued that he was not convinced that she was on the prowl. Obviously; Detective Grahn had finally had his fill of his spouse's suspected philandering and decided to Bury the Bitch rather than just divorce her and pay alimony for decades! The Sheriff had encouraged Detective Bradley to not volunteer this information with the investigators to shield the department from a probable lawsuit for negligence.

The fact that Sergeant Grahn had decided to wear his uniform rather than plain clothes on his mission of mass murder embarrassed Detective Bradley. He had even driven a marked patrol car with the Clackamas County Sheriff's emblem prominently displayed on the doors over a mile into a neighboring jurisdiction for his murderous mission. This of course had facilitated the mass murder. No one had wanted to interfere with a police officer in the performance of his duties. Bradley reached in to turn off the engine and take the key out of the ignition. The Sheriff had eagerly agreed with his suggestion that he visit the scene to retrieve the patrol car asap.

After pausing for a moment to summon his courage, Detective Bradley went into the M & M Lounge to see the other victims. The paramedics were still struggling to stabilize the one woman who wasn't dead yet. They had her laid out on the floor. Her dress was cut open to reveal that she was a cougar dressed for the hunt. She had worn stockings and a bra that had also been cut off of her but no panty. She had a nice rack too. He couldn't avoid noticing that her big breasts sagged naturally to the side to confirm that they were live rather than mamorex. Detective Bradley instantly recognized the wounded victim. Fortunately; she too wasn't who he most feared she would be. Victoria's beautiful, big, bloody breasts undulated in response to the medics' attempt to revive her. Given the multiple, forty caliber entry wounds in her pelvic region, Detective Bradley doubted that she would survive.

The body of the other women had not suffered the indignity of being stripped in public. She too was not who Detective Bradley feared that she would be. The single, forty caliber round that had entered her forehead had managed to overpenetrate, creating a spectacularly gory exit wound in the back of her skull. Kathleen had died almost instantly.

Detective Bradley went over to where his colleagues were interviewing who they assumed were key witnesses while they waited for a bus to haul everyone into headquarters for questioning. The big, burly, black man that they were questioning claimed that he and his friends had been dancing with a group of four, white ladies for much of the evening. He had been in the restroom rather than sitting at their table when the Clackamas County Sheriffs sergeant must have first walked in. He had seen the cop dragging his screaming wife out the door to her execution. He had wisely dove for cover when the maniac returned, screaming that he was "going to kill the bitches who led his wife astray." He had remained hidden while he watched as the women were shot then the shooter walked outside to shoot himself.

The black man explained that he and his brothers had known all three of the victims. They were part of a larger group of white cougars, all of whom he had known, intimately. He knew that all of the women in the group were married but he was far from ashamed to admit that "we been fucking them white bitches for the last few months." He continued his taunting, "there was a fourth, white bitch with the group earlier who is also married to a cop. She has never been as reluctant as her friends. It hadn't taken much time for one of the brothers to talk the white bitch into going off to a motel room to fuck. They left the lounge only half an hour before the irate cop showed up."

The Negro chuckled evilly as he taunted, "her life was saved because she had been getting her married cunt pounded by a big, black cock. Instead of taking a few bullets as her friends had, she had just taken a few more loads of Nigga cum." He continued to taunt his interrogator by explaining, "I prefer to fuck white cougars like the dead cop's wife. Unlike younger, single women, married ladies never ask me to wear a condom. Married ladies sometimes just ask me to pull out, but they never get too upset when I don't."

Detective Bradley struggled to resist the temptation to shoot the uppity Niger who so casually boasted of seducing white women who were married to police officers. However; he was daunted by the shame of explaining his motives to his colleagues. The man was also right about that white wife had survived the massacre of her friends because she had been away somewhere else having sex with a black man. The man had no way of knowing how personal it was for Detective Bradley.

After confirming with his colleagues that there was no evidentiary value in the patrol car parked on the sidewalk, Detective Bradley exited the lounge. As he was getting into the patrol car, he noticed that several television news crews were already on the scene and filming. Hopefully they had not yet realized that the mass murderer had driven the patrol car to the scene of the crime and hadn't bothered to get video of it.

The Clackamas County Sheriff's main office was a nearly brand new, five story glass edifice that looked like it might be the headquarters of some high tech corporation. It was an opulent monument to the Sheriff's overinflated ego.

The Sheriff's office was literally right across the street from the Clackamas Town Center shopping center that had been the scene of another mass shooting just before Christmas. The police had gotten to the scene of that crime almost immediately. However; rather than rushing in to immediately confront the still active shooter, they had implemented the same, standard operating procedure that had been implemented at Sandy Hook with such deadly effect only a few weeks earlier. Rather than rush in to heroically intervene, the cops had waited out in the parking lot, listening to the ongoing shooting while the Special Tactics Squad got organized.

By the time the police entered the shopping center, the shooter had already been confronted by an armed citizen. Unlike the cops, the citizen had not allowed the prospect of taking on a man armed with an assault rifle with only his compact carry pistol to dissuade him from intervening. The Sheriff had been incensed. The fraudulent investigation had concluded that the gunman had committed suicide. This spared the Sheriff the humiliation of having to publicly acknowledge that a citizen had taken out the bad guy while he and his deputies were still having a circle jerk out in the parking lot. The threat of being prosecuted for carrying his concealed pistol into a gun free zone combined with the specter of wrongful death lawsuit from the mass shooter's family had persuaded the armed citizen to remain silent.

After parking the car, Detective Bradley decided that he wouldn't finish his shift. The Sheriff would understand. Given the circumstances, he needed a drink. He needed more than just one drink. He arrived home to discover that the children were exploiting their mother's absence to stay up late. He had a beer while he herded them off to bed.

Once he was alone, Detective Bradley switched to whiskey while he waited for his wife and contemplated the implications of her absence. He didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce where she was and what she was doing. He thought about how he had been married for almost two decades. He thought about their children. Detective Bradley thought about the mortgage that was almost paid off. He thought about the looming expenses of hopefully putting their children through college. He thought about his once promising career which had stalled because he had been assigned to investigate violent crimes rather than narcotics cases. He contemplated how his growing gut and balding head would make it difficult for him to find a new woman if anything ever happened to his wife.

After a few hours and a few whiskies, Detective Bradley decided he would wait for Mrs Bradley in their marital bed. It was nearly dawn when he was awakened by his wife's arrival. Linda was a few years younger and a few pounds lighter than the women who had been brutally murdered at the M & M Lounge. However; she often hung out with them because her husband was friends with Sergeant Grahn. While the black man who his colleagues had been interviewing at the M & M Lounge would describe Linda as a white cougar, most white men would also classify her as a MILF.

Detective Bradley pretended to still be asleep as he watched his wife's reaction to his presence. She was obviously dismayed to see that her husband was home waiting for her rather than working an investigation. He watched through slitted eyes as she undressed. He noticed that she too had been dressed for the hunt this evening. Linda had worn a black garter belt and stockings rather than her usual pantyhose with a matching, black shelf bra that gave her big, very real breasts needed support while displaying her nipples and large, dark aureolas. He noticed that she was not wearing a panty. He wondered if she had been going commando when she left the house to go to the lounge or had she allowed her most recent paramour to keep her panty as a trophy?

Linda paused at her nightstand to put her cell phone in it's charging cradle. She seemed to be only mildly dismayed and somewhat bemused as she briefly contemplated the calendar app. Detective Bradley felt a painful tension in his gut and groin as he contemplated the implications of his recollection that his wife had last menstruated about two weeks earlier. She might be ovulating any day!

Linda reached down to run her fingers through her blonde pubic hair which Detective Bradley belatedly noticed was soaked with semen. Her fingers delved deep between her swollen, red labia to massage her still swollen clitoris. Given the circumstances, he should have been angry with her for being so reckless. However; unlike his wife he knew that her recklessness had save her life.

Detective Bradley watched as his wife retreated to the bathroom. She reached into the shower to turn on the water, but she was startled by how loud it was. The sound of the water seemed to change her mind. She turned the shower off. She no doubt was daunted by the prospect of waking her presumably sleeping husband whom she justifiably feared might become irate if he realized where she had been and what she had been doing. She moved to the sink where she used a damp washcloth to quietly rinse at least some of the semen from her pubic hair as best she could.

Linda didn't bother to remove her lingerie before slipping into bed with her apparently sleeping husband. She was exhausted from her sexual exertions and needed sleep.

As usual, Linda was in turmoil as her feelings of chronic guilt warred with her sense of sexual liberation. Charlotte had begun regaling her friends with lurid details of her sexual exploits over a year ago. Her boasting had ceased during the first few months after she reconciled with her husband. The boasting had resumed in recent months as their group resumed frequenting the M & M Lounge. Linda had been the first who had yielded to the curiosity inspired by that boasting. She had discovered that interracial sex was addictive. Victoria and then Kathleen had also yielded to the temptation to be seduced by a black man. They had joined her and Charlotte in boasting about how well endowed and virile their black paramours were. Once they had allowed themselves to be seduced by their first black man, all of the women had eagerly ridden the entire stable of ebony studs who had been courting their little group.

Detective Bradley remained still as his wife crawled into bed with him. He yielded to the gentle nudge that encouraged him to roll over to give her more room and allow her to curl up to his back. He savored the sensation her nylon clad legs brushing against his and those big, beautiful, all natural breasts pressing against his back. His jealousy and anger was overshadowed by his gratitude. His wife was an adulteress, but she was still alive!

Linda's hand migrated to her husband's genitals. She was no longer impressed. Compared to her paramours, his puny penis and tiny testicles were pathetic. However; he was a good husband, devoted father and dedicated provider for his family. Her husband couldn't measure up to her Negro paramours, but she still desired him. She was obligated by her marriage vows to desire him.

Detective Bradley was amazed to feel his penis swelling in response to his philandering wife's fondling. In spite of the confirmation of her suspected infidelities, he still desired her. The knowledge that his wife had become an adulteress actually inflamed his lust. The sensation of her kissing his shoulder and arm encouraged him to roll over onto his back. The lips migrated to his chest and belly. After lingering for a while, those lips found his penis.

There had been a time not so long ago when Linda didn't enjoy performing oral sex on her husband. Fellacio had been a wifely obligation that she had reluctantly fulfilled as seldom as possible. She had overcome this inhibition in recent months. Tonight she craved the sensation of her husband's penis in her mouth. Her explorations of her sexuality with her various paramours had given her a new sense of perspective. She had never appreciated the ease with which she could accommodate the entire length of her husband's pale penis in her mouth.

As Linda sucked on her husband's penis, she recalled how her valiant efforts to satisfy her first Negro paramour orally had been motivated by a vestige of fidelity. She had reasoned that she would not truly be guilty of adultery unless she allowed that enormous, ebony penis to invade her married vagina. However; the prospect of those enormous testicles emptying their sperm into her mouth had been daunting. Even more shocking had been the realization that thinking about all of those Negro sperm had inflamed her desire to feel that penis inside her. She had eagerly allowed his assurances that he would restrain himself to overcome her concerns about the lack of a condom.

As Linda continued to perform fellacio on her husband, she became acutely aware of the sensation of semen continuing to seep from her vagina. This was far from the first time that she had returned home with her vagina literally overflowing with semen. However; this was the first time that her husband had been waiting for her in their marital bed.