The Elegant Corpse

Inspector Roger Corso believes that everything should be in order.Therefore, even in such a smoky and even messy place like Los Angeles, even if it is an activity such as murder, which often deliberately messes up the scene or simply messes it up, certain things are really, completely, and absolutely unsuitable—especially when it is so abrupt. — in some places.

For example, on the sofa in his living room, there shouldn't be a mummified corpse lying sideways.Absolutely not.

Roger Corso returned home after a long-awaited week-long vacation away from home.He lives in a quiet townhouse with good security and patrols.But when he opened the door of his home, he was greeted by the smell of mothballs.

He pressed the security alarm number in the room, turned on the lights, and smelled the pungent smell again.Before reaching the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks.He found one of his tuxedo throw pillows—the one with the side that came with the sofa—laid in the middle of the living room rug.

He picked up the pillow, stared at the things on his sofa for a long time, and then took out his mobile phone to call the homicide department office to which he belonged.

***

"Although I don't pay much attention to fashion, it hurts to see myself dressed as a corpse!" A petite blonde woman said, staring at the corpse under her eyes.

Roger Corso stared in horror, then turned to look at his partner.

"How long has she been dead?" Marianne Stelter asked one of the CSI men.

"It's been ten years," the man replied with his head tilted, his thick black-rimmed glasses gleaming.He's young, and the glasses make him look more nerdy than nerdy, and he definitely flirts with Marianne. "It's hard to say. The wax is formed from the face." He pointed to the thick layer of "white wax" attached to the victim's face. "The corpse should have been placed in an extremely cold or dry environment for a long time, and there is no sign of decay. The last time I saw a similar situation, the victim was buried in the desert. But no matter what happened to her What, she looks absolutely beautiful as a corpse."

When the ambulance came to take the body away, they found that the outer covering of the body had begun to peel off, and then immediately crumbled into powder, like the corn husks that wrap the tamales.So the forensic doctor meticulously inspected the exposed inner fabric before removing the body.

Wrapped in lacquered linen was the body of a young woman.The body was remarkably well preserved: she was wearing a blue suit and what appeared to be a pair of stockings, and Roger could almost make out the color of her nail polish.

Roger examined the body with the precision of a photo-scanner. "I think the body has been preserved for at least 25 years."

Marianne raised her eyebrows.

"These shoes," said Roger, "I think they're from 1982."

"You forgot to celebrate my birthday this year, but you remembered a pair of shoes?" Marianne smiled and shook her head.

Roger temporarily forgot about the break-in of his own home, and focused on the corpse in front of him-but really, that kind of behavior could be called sacrilege, desecrating his spotless private space.It was a tall woman in a Chanel suit he remembered from a fashion magazine in the same year, in navy blue with shiny brass buttons.His eyes moved to the hands crossed stiffly across her chest—her hands were bound together, as were her feet.She was placed in the pose of an ancient Egyptian mummy, holding a twelve-inch ritual object in each hand.The chill down his spine reminded Roger more of a horror movie than a crime scene, and he recognized the thing.But immediately, he made an even more terrifying discovery.

"There are people who want this woman to be found," Marianne said.She turned on the bluetooth of her mobile phone and typed quickly with a tool like a small steel knife. "Well, if you can fix the date, I can go look for missing persons. White, under thirty, Roger? Blonde or red, about five foot ten," Marianne said, typing .

"Correction," said Roger.

you sure? Marianne squinted her eyes and inspected the corpse. "You know, high heels can make women look taller even when lying down." "

"It's not height, it's gender," Roger said, "It's not women."

***

"Transvestite who disappeared in 1982. Do you think this makes the case easier?" Marianne complained.They are now discussing it at her kitchen table.Marian walked away awkwardly, and Roger heard her take off her high heels and land on the wooden floor.

"We're not sure if he's a transvestite," Roger said calmly.He put together the reports that Marian had spread all over the table, poked them horizontally and vertically, and put them neatly into the corresponding folders.

"Transvestite, drag queen. Call it whatever you want." Marianne walked into the adjacent kitchen in stockings, and she had pulled out her white shirt, which hung crumpled over the dark blue skirt. "Would you like some coffee?"

"I think we should have something stronger than coffee at this point," said Roger.

Without further ado, Marian took out a bottle of Chivas Regal Royal and two Hyperion glasses from the kitchen.

Pour wine and cheers.Roger breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his stiff shoulders like a bird shedding its feathers.Marian also put her feet on the stool next to her, and brushed her short blond hair to one side and one side to the other.

"The post-mortem report said the clothes were tailor made and not in the style of a man who tried on Miss Sister's clothes for the first time."

"The level of preservation is simply amazing."

"This is the scariest thing I've ever seen—my sister has seen a lot of horror things."

"The chemical test report hasn't come out yet?"

"Chemistry tests are hit and miss at best. Tissue can provide some clues, but she—or he—was painted all over," Marianne said. "They say all the organs of the body were removed , and stuffed with stuffing, man. So they get nothing, unless that particular ingredient, like amyl nitrate and cocaine or something."

She wasn't really talking to Roger, but Roger wasn't really listening either.Marianne slumped in her chair, drinking whiskey and running her fingers through her hair, staring dreamily at the curtain rods above the high dining-room windows.Roger continued to flip through the document, turning each page with great care to ensure that the paper was pressed exactly on top of the previous page.

"You really don't want to stay with me tonight?" Marianne asked him.

"No need."

She breathed a suspicious sigh of relief. "If I were you, I would definitely have nightmares about mummies."

"I'll be fine." The old-fashioned clock in the hallway Marianne had inherited from her grandmother along with the old house.When the clock struck the tenth, Roger closed the document he was reading. "I still have to go now."

"Okay." Marian put her feet down and got up to walk him to the door.Roger was quite a bit taller than her with her heels off.He is six feet four inches tall, and she is only five feet four inches. The height difference between the two has become a stalk that has always been talked about in the jurisdiction.

"Call me if anything nasty happens in your house again, Corso."

"I sure will," said Roger.

***

Roger has neither the time nor the intention to participate in the daily meetings and cross-examinations, although he usually enjoys the work process.But ever since Roger found a dead body lying in the place where the pillow should have been placed in his living room, he has been entangled in suppressed anger.

The unremarkable red brick building in front of him didn't even have a signboard. The windows and pneumatic doors were all dull gray. Roger opened the door and walked into a room with a black rubber mat floor and exposed metal frames supporting Unpainted composite panel walls.The dirty reception desk at the front desk was set in a corner, covered with shoe prints.On the wall behind the desk were posters of old movies, and sitting there was an idle young man with a fair complexion and purple hair.

"Is Pete there?" he asked, showing his membership card.The young man wore a black bracelet with metal studs on his wrist. He checked Roger's membership card, chewed gum and said, "Ah, Pete is here tonight."

"Tell him I'm coming and ask if he's free."

"No problem." The cracked green plastic of the chair creaked as he leaned over to dial the phone. "Mr. C came to Pete."

A few minutes later, a side door opened, and a man in his 30s, with light brown hair and eyes, came out, wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt, jeans, and a pair of loafers. , walked up to Roger and shook his hand. "What have you been doing all this time?" He said as he led Roger into the door, and the two walked through a long concrete corridor.

"I've been busy with work."

"I knew you would say that," Pete shook his head with a chuckle, and opened another door, "Come in."

The lavishly furnished rooms are a stark contrast to the shabby corridors and reception.Behind the burgundy curtains is a gray soundproof panel, except for a part in the middle, the surrounding ground is covered with wooden floors, but the middle is covered with black rubber, which eliminates the sound of Roger's shoes.The crosses, benches and wooden horses are not what you find in your average gym.

Roger looked around. "good."

"Great. I think everything you want should be here." Pete pointed to the direction of the bar, indicating that he could hang his clothes there. "I'll be fine in a while."

Roger went to the bar and opened a wardrobe behind him, hung up his suit jacket, undid his tie, and hung them up neatly.There were still some empty hangers left in the closet. Roger took off his work shirt and put it on the hangers, buttoning all the buttons from bottom to top one by one.Finally, he removed the watch and the thin silver ring from his right hand and placed them on a tray inside.

A full-length mirror built into the cabinet door reflected Roger's broad shoulders and bulging biceps.Unlike most enthusiasts in the same position as him in this circle, Roger does not have the habit of shedding his hair, but his body hair is not too thick.Fine black hair ran down the brown nipples, around the navel and disappeared behind the belt buckle.Those green eyes, fierce and wise, that often scare witnesses, Roger looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, then looked away.

Pete returned to the door, stripped down to a pair of black thongs.Without saying a word, he walked to the center of the room and stood still, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed.

Roger closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, and began to integrate himself into the character.At this time, he felt that the pressure entrenched under his neck was gradually relieved and slowly dissipated.And the stiff muscles in the back need some more drastic movements to relax.

"You can talk," he said.

"Master." Pete's usually lively voice became low and depressed, almost like a whisper. "My safe word is 'jelly.'"

"Got it," said Roger.Once in character, he felt his knees and calves, usually stiff with extreme self-control, relax; Roger scanned the familiar body up and down as he paced aggressively around Pete.

Roger grabbed Pete's wrists and gently led the man to St. Andrew's Cross.The cross was mounted on the wall, like a minimalist Spanish shrine, and Roger lifted Pete's hands and tied them to the cross one by one, making sure it was strong but not too tight.

He then went to the bar and opened one of the doors, which contained several dildos and butt plugs.Roger looked at each of them and settled on a long, thick smooth butt plug and a simple jelly-like dildo.He smeared the plug with lube, put his hands on Pete's buttocks and pushed the plug in slowly.Pete let out a low snort when the plug was completely submerged.

Then Roger went back to the bar again, and he opened another door.Inside this cabinet hangs a row of riding whips, walking sticks and scatter whips.He chose a loose-tailed whip with a well-designed design, and the light-colored whip tail had a velvet-like texture.After making his selection, he turned back to Pete.

Roger flexed his muscles and flicked the whip a few times at will.He paced back and forth, turning his head to stretch his neck muscles, switching the whip from left to right, and stopped five feet from Pete, holding the whip loosely.

Pete sighed as the first whip fell on his round, white buttocks.Roger swung the whip smoothly, quickly and rhythmically, the tail of the whip drew an "8" in the air, and each stroke was precisely on Pete's buttocks and thighs.Roger's whip left sharp marks on that beautiful buttocks, Pete's creamy skin began to flush, and he closed his eyes.

Under Roger's rhythmic rhythm, the tail of the scattered whip hit Pete's skin like beating a drum.He occasionally stopped to admire his masterpiece, gently stroking the hot skin with his palm, like a sculptor caressing his own clay sculpture.Pete's body trembled slightly under his touch, his armpits became a little wet, and sweat began to slip off his body.

Roger undid his belt, took off his shoes and socks and trousers.Stack each piece neatly and put away individually.Then he went to the bar to exchange for a suede whip.This one was longer, and when he used it to sweep Pete's legs, the legs seemed to have stiffened a bit.

This time, Roger raised the whip above his head and swished it in a serpentine motion on Pete.Pete groaned.Every time the whip fell, he flinched, tugging at the shackles on the cross, and soon, his entire back was covered with red marks.Pete was breathing hard and began to shake violently.Roger stopped panting, beads of sweat rolling off his body.

He rested his palm lightly on Pete's hot skin again, staring at the man's face, capturing every trace of pain.Then he walked behind Pete and slowly removed the plug.

Pete's head was thrown back, his hips tightened, and he gasped as Roger carefully lubed and stuffed his dildo.The thing was thrust back and forth a few times until it came in and out, and there was a wistful moan in Pete's throat, and Roger murmured to soothe him.

He stood up behind Pete and started a new round of whipping.This time, Roger kept changing hands, slowly approaching Pete, and the whipping became more and more intensive, and the intensity also increased a lot.

When he stopped, both of them were completely hard, shaking with sweat.

Roger quickly removed Pete's thong, exposing his wet dark cock to the air, and stroked in a light rhythm, his other hand on the muscles of Pete's head, shoulders and back. Move up.

Pete let out a sob, his cock throbbing in Roger's hand.As he approached orgasm, even his scrotum tightened, and he shuddered, desperate for release.Roger murmured the command to release when the time was right, the dildo pumping and thrusting fast, his fingers moving too.Pete came out with a scream, the muscles in his back, neck and arms spasming uncontrollably.

Gently wrapping his arms around the lingering Pete, Roger began to jerk his cock, and eventually he too came panting, cum on Pete's flushed ass.

After the two men gasped for a long time in the small room, Roger went to the sink to clean himself.After he put on his pants, he came to help Pete take out the dildo, then let go of the handcuffs, carefully helped him to the bench and helped him lie down on it.

"Want to drink water?"

"Okay, thank you. Master, is Situation ① over?"

①scene, a BDSM term, refers to the interaction of participants entering the BDSM game rules. After the "situation" ends, the participant will be released from D/s status.

"It's over, Pete," said Roger.

Roger fetched some warm water for Pete from the cupboard, and he stayed with Pete until Pete could sit up by himself.Roger put on his shirt and buttoned his cuffs while Pete drank.

"It's not that I don't trust you, you know," Pete said, "There's no need to masturbate yourself, you can come inside me."

"It's a great honor," said Roger.Pete was good looking and the type of physique that Roger liked.He was smooth-skinned, sparsely haired, and lean, but with soft fat on his buttocks and belly.But if you like it, it's another matter to be tempted. Roger hasn't been tempted by anyone for many years.

"Who doesn't have a complex with men?" Pete said happily.If he hadn't been sweating and slumping his flushed back, and shivering from time to time, he would have looked just like the genial young man who had greeted Roger for the first time in the lobby.

"I'm afraid I've worried you too much," said Roger dryly.He got up and went to the closet and continued to get dressed. "I have to go."

"Wait until I bill you," Pete said.He was still wearing black thongs, and his back was covered with red marks from teeth and claws. After writing a receipt in a notebook, he tore it off and handed it to Roger.

Roger glanced at the number and pouted—Peter gave him [-]% off.But it would be inappropriate to say so, so Roger just asked, "Can I add a tip?"

"Of course." Pete grinned.He shook Roger's hand again at the door as Roger left.

***

The crime-scene tape and fingerprint powder were still in the living room, so Roger bypassed it and went straight to the shower, dried off, and sat on the bed.He methodically checked the agenda for the next day's items and turned on the electronic alarm clock.

Before turning off the light, he touched the silver photo frame on the bedside table.The photo inside shows a young Roger and a man, shoulder to shoulder, smiling for the camera on a beach in the Bahamas.

Then he turned off the light.